Inheritance and Treachery
by Carthienes
Summary: Harry Potter claims his inheritance and discovers some unfortunate things about his friends; but the truth of their actions ultimately proves far worse than he could ever have imagined. Based on original Ideas by Rorschach's Blot (Odd Ideas chapter 50 and Lord of Caer Azkaban) WARNING! : Appearances can Deceive you. Don't Trust them.
1. Debts Must be Paid

Debts Must be Paid

Harry was sitting at his desk reading a potions text when Hedwig returned. As much as he hated the subject, he needed every edge he could get to keep Snape from failing him.

"Hey there girl," Harry smiled as he greeted the bird, "Did Hermione have a letter for me then?"

The white owl dropped two letters on Harry's desk and plucked the treat from his fingers with a gentle bark.

"Two letters?" she shook her head, "Maybe she already had one but wanted to send a reply to my letter? Oh well. Thanks Hedwig."

Harry smiled as he picked up the first letter and read through Hermione's words. A smile that turned to a frown when he got to the end:

 _P.S. In reply to your letter, don't get caught up in Potions books – Snape won't let you get a good mark anyway and you can not afford to drop your other subjects for him. Read something useful rather than something boring._

"That's odd," he muttered to himself before turning to the unmarked envelope, "Did she make a mistake?"

Mistakes did not seem like Hermione, so he opened the second envelope and skimmed the contents of the letter. Shock warred with confusion across as he re-read the letter, before giving way to rage as he glanced up at his owl.

"She ask you to give this to Dumbledore?" he hissed, getting a nod in response, "Good. Any more and you let me know. And Dumbledore can have this now." Harry took a deep breath to calm himself as he resealed the letter, "Would you like to rest a bit first?"

Hedwig shook her head and grabbed the letter as she flew off into the night once more.

"Be safe, girl." Harry whispered. He thought he heard a bark in reply before returning to his potion book. Time to finish the chapter.

. . .

Hedwig returned a little sooner than he was expecting, a third letter clutched in her claws.

"Is that from Dumbledore?" he asked her, and she shook her head in response, "Oh, Ron." he skimmed the letter before returning it, "Try not to get noticed." he whispered to Hedwig as she prepared for her flight, "I think it's about time I spoilt you a little and wouldn't want you to miss tomorrow."

With a soft bark of affection, the owl took off into the night once more. Leaving a few Owl treats in her dish Harry gave in to his annoyance and decided to try and solve his frustrations. Slipping on his Invisibility Cloak and a Weasly Wizz disguise he faded into the night. It was only half done and he needed to do some shopping.

. . .

Unfortunately, Diagon Alley was mostly closed through the witching hour, as even those witches and wizards who worked a full time job needed their sleep. Knockturn, however, was a different matter. Though his disguise made it patently obvious that he was disguised, the desire to pass unrecognised was common enough in Knockturn that nobody commented on it or attempted to see through it.

Shopping at this late hour meant that all the petty grey-marketeers where out selling borderline illegal items – nothing bad enough for the ministry to come looking for them, but bad enough not to be bandied about in the open. A snaggle-toothed witch sold him a second hand wand that she promised would muffle his magical signature enough to confuse most detection wards.

"Even fool the ministry search wards if you keep to little spells," she cackled, "Course, they don't really care what you cast or who is casting so confusing the signature only goes so far"

"How little is little?" Harry asked as he paid her for the wand.

"Depends on the caster," she confessed, "You force more power into the spell, it looks bigger on the wards. Especially if the spell can't use all the magic. I got a book of useful little charms that ought to be small enough for anyone that don't overdo it. Ought to be good for your little kids to practice too," She finished with a leer.

"Let's see it," he asked, thinking that the concerned father story was as good an excuse as any. It wouldn't matter who believed it, just so long as he had it.

. . .

After purchasing a handful of obscure books and potions Harry retired for a few hours sleep. Fortunately, long years of service to the Dursleys had somewhat inured him to the perils of too little sleep, and one of the potions he had picked up last night was an 'Antidote to a Sleepless Night, dangerous if used frequently' so he had a backup plan if things went wrong. As the Dursleys tended to ignore their 'Freak' boarder after food was on the table, Harry disappeared back into his room to read.

The little book of little charms looked to be an old republishing of an even older book, with a forward commenting that the Ministry had recently arranged to upgrade their detections to pick up muffled spells – and contracted the whole thing out to a drinking buddy of the minister that did an even shoddier job than the first crony. Or some such. Harry was a bit suspicious that it was so convenient, resolving to test it before trusting it, but the little charms in the little book certainly seemed effective – many of them seemed to be variants of those he already knew, sacrificing convenience for subtlety.

At the back of the book was a charm to muffle a wand, with a note that it would need to be replenished weekly and would hamper any spell cast until it wore off, with a suggestion to acquire an inherently muffled wand for long term use. Harry resolved to check whether his new acquisition was inherently muffled or merely enchanted at the earliest opportunity.

The little book of little charms was written for the children of a previous age, so it was relatively easy to absorb once he had adjusted to the archaic language. He read it over his shoulder whilst giving Hedwig a thorough grooming. After she settled down for a good day's sleep, Harry sat at his desk and copied down a handful of the more useful spells onto a separate sheet of parchment for future reference before turning to read his other finds. Just because he had only intended to get a backup wand for emergencies didn't mean that he wasn't going to take advantage of the muffled wand now that he had one.

Unfortunately, the other books where not designed to be assimilated so simply and extracting useful information from a pile of books was not his primary talent. Glancing at the small pile before him, his heart sank as he began to calculate how long it would take to find the answers he needed, even assuming that these books had the information he needed.

"If only I could still rely on Hermione," he muttered to himself, thinking of the bushy haired girl who read so much faster than he could ever hope too, "She's good at distilling information for her friends. Unless..." an idea began to bloom in his head as he quickly skimmed through the remaining tomes, "There has to be a way, there has to be."

. . .

That night Harry slipped away from the house as soon as the washing up was done, reaching Diagon Alley while the shops and even Gringotts where still open. Wandering through the alley he stopped to pick up as many catalogues as he could lay his hands on before stepping into the Bank and walking up to the nearest teller.

"Mr. Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal."

"And does Mr. Harry Potter have his key?" asked the goblin, in reply to which Harry produced the requested item.

"Very Well, Griphook!" the teller summoned another goblin to escort Harry to his Vault and back.

The journey was uneventful, with Harry quickly shovelling a small pile of currency into a mokeskin pouch before returning to the surface to find a pair of goblins waiting for him.

"Mr. Potter?" asked the taller of the two, pretending not to notice the wand that had appeared in Harry's hand "Gringotts wishes to inquire as to whether you intend to reply to our letter?"

"What letter?"

"The one we sent you two weeks ago regarding your inheritance."

"I don't believe we've seen it. No letters from Gringotts, nor reference to an inheritance," Harry frowned, "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, sir, I believe we shall have to increase the security around our mail."

"Happy to be of Service, sir."

"Would you happen to have a copy of the letter I can peruse?"

"You may take this one," The Goblin replied, handing an envelope over, "It is a follow up letter reminding you that the deadline expires in two weeks, and contains a full copy of the original for cases like this."

"Thank you again," Harry inclined his head towards the Goblin, "I may very well return to provide my response in person if I can not trust my mail."

"An honour to see a human taking his affairs so seriously," the Goblin replied.

. . .

After leaving Gringotts, Harry returned to Knockturn under the cover of twilight to revisit the witch who sold him his new wand. He found her making her way up the narrow alley and fell into step beside her.

"Good evening,"

"What you want?" she snapped, suspicion in her eyes.

"Regarding that wand you sold me yesterday..."

"Everyone knows muffles aren't as powerful..." she started to reply.

"Irrelevant." Harry snapped back, "Is it inherent or charmed?"

"You read the book," she muttered as she came to a stop, "You read it and understood."

"Yes, but that is not my answer."

"Inherent." she replied, "And thank you."

"What?"

"I wrote that book for my own children," the witch explained, "but you may be the first man outside the family to properly look at it. Nobody else ever asked that."

"Is the muffling charm subtle enough to go unnoticed?"

"If cast from a well muffled wand it is," she agreed as she started walking again, "The wands I sell are made from fragments of several other wands – it's the conflicting magical signatures that muffle the spell. Is there anything else you needed."

"Yes." Harry agreed, before explaining the type of magic he sought. The witch was able to point him towards a few of the less open sellers on the street before she opened her stall for the night.

. . .

Harry did not stay out for long – he had to get back before his absence aroused suspicion, and the longer he stayed out the greater the odds that he would be missed. Concealing his new books under the bed, he changed in the dark and managed a good night's sleep. The following morning, with breakfast done, he skimmed through his new finds and was happy to see that he had been right.

"There is a way to do it then," a sly grin bloomed on his face, "And why not? It's for the greater good after all... and I will be offering her a choice."

His mind made up, he took up a fresh sheet of parchment and began to copy out the details he would need for his plan.

. . .

"You know, I found something interesting about you."

The voice woke Hermione from a sound sleep and her hand shot towards her absent wand. "Who's there?" she demanded.

"It's me," the voice answered, "Your... friend... and I found something interesting about you."

"Harry? What is it?" She asked nervously. She couldn't find her wand and was acutely aware that she was helpless. This wouldn't normally be a problem, normally she would be the first one to tell you that Harry was harmless... that she was safe with him. But something about his manner was... odd.

"I learned that you've been telling Dumbledore about me," Harry spoke with eerie calm, "That you betrayed me."

"But he's Dumbledore," Hermione protested weakly, "He just wants what's best for you,"

"Now now, Hermione," Harry mocked her, ""You know better than that, care to try again?"

"He said it was for the greater good," Hermione sobbed, "He said it would all be for the best,"

"You really think that it is okay to ruin someone else's life for the greater good?" Harry asked in an unnaturally level tone, "To make their choices for them, to enslave them, to make them your tool for the greater good?

"I'm sorry Harry," Hermione wailed, "So sorry."

"That may be, but you have yet to answer the question."

"He said it was for the best."

"Should I take that as a yes, then?"

"Yes." Hermione whispered, hating herself for what she had done and for lacking the courage to admit the nature of her crime in the months before the confrontation. Above all, she hated herself for ruining her friendship with the 'boy-who-lived'.

"Wonderful," Harry said with a smile, "I knew that I could count on you of all people to look at things clinically. If your goal is the greater good then your means do not matter, they are justified by the ends, are they not?"

"I'm sorry," she chanted, her head in her hands so she could avoid looking at those betrayed green eyes "Sorry sorry sorry,"

"Don't be sorry," he said gently, "You gave me the push I needed to do what is necessary."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked fearfully.

"I'm going to serve the greater good." Harry said vaguely, "Do you remember our first year? When Ron and I rescued you from that troll?"

"Yes," she agreed, feeling sick for betraying the boy who had saved her life, "I remember."

"Excellent; now tell me: would you have survived had we not intervened?"

"No." Hermione drooped even more, "I wouldn't."

"Then you won't contest the fact that you owe me a life debt." Harry added grandly.

"You and Ron." the miserable girl answered, flinching at every word that came out of her former friends mouth.

"Surprised that you don't know this one," Harry's voice took on a lecturing tone, "As you where saved as a result of my actions and as Ron was there at my suggestion, your life debt belongs to me and me alone. That leaves out the fact that you where only in danger as a direct result of Ron's actions, which would preclude you owing him any life debt over this situation anyway. Do you understand?"

"Yes Harry, I understand."

"Good, very good. Can you tell me what I can demand of you because of the debt you owe me?"

"Anything," Hermione whispered, "Any One Act, even if it would result in my death." The girl's voice calmed as she spoke, as she begun to accept her fate.

"Correct," Harry said proudly, as if he were a teacher shining praise on a particularly bright student, "But don't worry; I don't plan to ask for anything that would harm you."

"You don't?" she asked with growing hope.

"Of course not," Harry said quickly, "I am your friend, after all, even if you did treat that friend ship rather... poorly."

"Yes, Harry." she said in a subdued tone.

"All that I require of you is that you assist me in a ritual," he explained, "One that will not result in your death or in any physical harm. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," Harry concluded, "Read this. Tell me when you've mastered your part."

Hermione spent several minutes reading over the parchment he'd prepared that afternoon before recoiling in horror. "But... Harry, this... this would..."

"Will make you my slave, yes." Harry agreed coldly, "But don't worry, it's for the greater good, after all."

"But..."

"Shoe's a bit different when it's on the other foot?" he inquired with a cold, cruel laugh, "You should have thought of that before; now read."

. . .


	2. A Debt is Paid, a Slave is Made

A Debt is Paid, a Slave is Made

"Listen up," Harry said after the ritual was completed, "I have several things that I need you to do."

"Yes master."

"First, I need you to find a way to get me out from under Dumbledore's thumb."

"Since you've sat your OWL exams, you have the option if leaving school," she replied quietly, "If you leave school then you are automatically considered an adult for most legal purposes."

"Only most?"

"Different laws written at different times have different ideas of what constitutes an 'Adult'," she explained, "I could research it if you wish..."

"Who knows about this?"

"Most everyone," Hermione said dully, "Dumbledore made a point of ordering us not to let you find out."

"I see... in that case the two of us are leaving school."

"The two of us?" Hermione asked in horror.

"Afraid so," Harry agreed cheerfully, "Don't worry, it's for the greater good and we all know that no sacrifice is too big for the greater good."

"I... I understand master," Hermione had tears trickling down her face as she spoke, "What else do you require of me, master."

"How hard is it going to be to hire a couple of tutors?"

"Tutors?"

"Just because I'm leaving Hogwarts doesn't mean that I'm going to neglect my education," Harry explained, "I still have Voldemort to deal with, for a start."

"You do master," Hermione agreed, "And hiring a Tutor or two or even five won't be a problem master... would I be permitted to attend lessons with you?"

"Will you be good?"

"Yes master," Hermione answered quickly.

"Then yes, you may have lessons with me."

"Thank you master."

"Remember," Harry told her "I am not doing this to punish you for betraying me, I wouldn't do that."

"Then... why master?"

"I need a loyal researcher," Harry answered with a shrug, "This was the easiest way to make you loyal. The next thing on the agenda is that you are not to tell anyone about your new status."

"As your slave?" Hermione asked with a bit of heat.

"Yes, that. So don't address me as master in public – only when the two of us are alone and can't be overheard."

"I understand master."

"Good, now I am also going to need you to find me a place to stay long term where I won't be disturbed... preferably in the magical world."

"I... I'm not sure I could afford that master."

"I'll cover the expenses," Harry waved off her concerns, "Just tell me what you need and why."

"Anything else, master?"

"I have several books that I'm going to be leaving here," he told her, "I need you to read them and take notes on anything that might be useful for me to know."

"That's one thing I'd be happy to do." Hermione said with a sigh.

"One more thing, I'm going to need some sort of truth potion or spell. You are to either brew it or acquire it for me. Same deal as before, just tell me what you need in terms of money."

"I can do that master."

"Good, get on it then, and call this number when you are finished."

"I will."

"Almost forgot," Harry waved his wand around Hermione's, whispering an incantation before he returned it to her, "This is the last spell in the little book on top, which I'm leaving for your reference. I've already read it, but I suggest you check it out when you have the time."

"Yes master,"

"Then I'm not going to keep you up any longer," Harry said cheerfully, "After all, you've got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Goodbye master."

"Goodnight Hermione," Harry said as he threw the invisibility cloak on, "Pleasant dreams."

. . .

Hermione called Harry's new disposable mobile the following evening to give her first report.

"I've accomplished most of what you wanted me to master," she informed him in a subdued tone, "Sirius left you his house, which you should inherit as next in line anyway, so you have a place to stay in the magical world. I've gone through your books and noted several spells and potions that could be useful."

"And the last thing," he pressed her, "A way to determine truth?"

"There is something that I found a reference to," she replied nervously, "That would allow you to to know when people are trying to mislead you. It... it wouldn't compel them to tell you the truth, but it also wouldn't do anything to tip them off that you're doing it."

"Well?"

"It's a kind of charm," Hermione said reluctantly, "I think I'll need a few more books to research it."

"How much time do you need?"

"Just a couple of minutes master, I think," Hermione mumbled the last part, "I think that I can work out the mechanics of the spell from these descriptions."

"Get to it then,"

"Yes master,"

"And hurry," Harry continued, "We have a meeting we need to go to tonight."

"I understand master."

. . .

Hermione paid the taxi fare from Vernon's wallet as Harry swept up the steps of 12 Grimmaud Place. Drawing his new wand as he crossed the threshold he approached the kitchen with confidence. On the other side he heard a hush falling and the voice of Albus Dumbledore.

"Someone's entered the wards."

"It's just me," Harry informed them as he entered the room to find a forest's worth of wands pointed at him, "Though I do appreciate the welcome, Heil Dumbledore." he extended his wand hand before continuing, "You may be seated."

The wands disappeared and several grumbling witches and wizards took their seats. Though a couple of muggleborn shot worried looks at the headmaster, the meaning behind Harry's gesture seemed to have passed over the collective heads of the majority of the Order.

"Why have you come here," Dumbledore asked in a grandfatherly voice, "You know it's not safe for you to be out on your own."

"I know several things," Harry answered, "For example, did you know that I own this house?"

"I was aware of it," Dumbledore replied dryly, "I was not aware that you where."

"And as the owner," Harry continued, "I'm afraid that I don't like the idea of so many people being here unsupervised. In future, no one is to be here without my express permission."

"Harry..." Dumbledore began.

"I also know," Harry spoke over the interruption, "How little the Order has done to combat the Death Eaters. Rather, you've been spending all your time and resources spying on me and keeping me confined to my former... 'residence'"

"It was for the greater..."

"Yes, yes," Harry interrupted with a yawn, "We're all well aware that you think that."

"What I don't understand is how you where," Moody growled.

"He has his and I have mine," Harry answered cryptically, "And with that I believe our business is concluded. This meeting is adjourned. That means you may all leave my house; immediately. Kreacher!"

"You called, bad master Potter sir."

"These individuals are just leaving," Harry gestured at the assembled Order, "Please show them out. Then search this house top to bottom, and return any items belonging to those individuals to their nearest residence. Do you understand."

"Yes, bad master Potter sir."

With that Harry swept out of the kitchen, chaos erupting in his wake. He expected to find Hermione in the library, until he saw her on the landing still listening in. He had told her to monitor the meeting, but now that it was breaking up she stayed where she was listening to the fallout.

The Order of the Phoenix departed a trifle slower than he would have liked, but Kreacher did as ordered and made sure that nobody dawdled. Once outside they popped away, one by one, a few lingering to argue before they too left.

"Dumbledore thinks you're going to come running back to him master." Hermione said after the wizard in question dissapparated.

"You read lips?"

"Not well, master; I left an extendable ear outside."

"Why does Dumbledore expect me to return?"

"Because you used magic, master." Hermione replied, "He said that he would make sure there was a proper law suit brought against you so that you would need his protection."

"I used subtle spells and a muffled wand," Harry replied, "Like I did last night. Did you receive a warning for underage magic use in your house?"

"No master."

"Neither did I, so I don't expect to get one this time either. You did read the section on muffled wands, did you not?"

"Yes master," Hermione replied with a sad smile, "Apparently Dumbledore did not."

"Him and everyone else," Harry muttered, thinking of the witch he'd bought it from, "You cast the truth charm successfully?"

"Of course, master," Hermione answered in a subdued voice, "Though I think that I still need to refine it a little."

"It will do for now," Harry assured her, "Mine pinged a few times – yours?"

"Likewise master."

"Let's compare notes in the library, then."

. . .

Harry settled into a comfortable chair with a sigh, thinking back over the conversation he had just had with the Order as he gestured for Hermione to take a nearby seat. There was something odd about the way her truth charm had been reacting – he trusted Hermione's work, with the enslavement ritual on her, so he doubted it was a false reading. It was almost as if…

"That truth charm of yours… Does it read magnitude?"

"It should do master."

"And Dumbledore was subtly misleading throughout the entire meeting." Harry groaned.

"Just barely master." Hermione pointed out, "It was almost as if..."

"As if, what?"

"As if he was trying to be honest master," she whispered, "But has become so accustomed to misdirection that it is automatic and ingrained."

"Are you sure?"

"No master," she sighed, "It is a new spell. It is rough, in need of refinement and calibration. For now master I would suggest you take any of Dumbledore's words with a pinch of salt."

"A rather generous pinch at that." Harry sighed, "Any specific spikes?"

"Nothing that seemed especially relevant."

"Nothing entirely false, or as it seems; but it would appear that we are on our own."

"Yes master."

"Bad master potter want Kreacher throw nasty mudblood out too?" Kreacher asked as he appeared before them.

"NO!" Harry snapped, "And do not use that term!"

Kreacher immediately ran head first into the nearest bookshelf and began beating his head against it, before collapsing on the floor when Harry ordered him to stop.

"Hermione serves me, Kreacher." Harry explained, "Her loyalty I can trust, Her ability likewise. I need someone like her so I can make sure to thoroughly avenge those Voldemort killed."

"Potter master wants to avenge good master Black sir?" Kreacher ventured.

"I wish to end Voldemort properly," Harry replied softly, "To finish what so many have started. I want to ensure that this time, he either cannot come back, or won't try."

"Kreacher wants to help."

"Care to explain that?" Harry inquired, more than a little surprised by the change in Kreacher's attitude.

. . .

Kreacher's explanation took the better part of an hour. As far as Harry could tell, Mr and Mrs Black had forced their son Regulus into joining the Death Eaters before Voldemort revealed his true colours. Kreacher had been assigned to help Voldemort hide pendant of some value, and had then helped his 'Good Master Black sir' get the item. Regulus had sacrificed himself to pierce Voldemort's final defence, after ordering Kreacher to take the Dark Lord's precious artefact and destroy it.

"But Kreacher couldn't follow good master Black's order." the house elf drooped, "Bad Kreacher failed, Bad Kreacher punished himself and Bad Kreacher still failed!"

Anticipating Kreacher's next move, Harry leapt from his seat and seized the house elf before he could punish himself again.

"Kreacher hold still." he ordered, stopping the elf in the act, "Punishing yourself now will not improve your chances. Now tell me, do you know where this artefact is now?"

"Kreacher knows,"

"Then fetch it here. Perhaps we can try something you haven't."

With that Harry released Kreacher who scuttled out the door as fast as he could. With a sigh Harry returned to his seat and asked Hermione what she thought.

"Kreacher is as loyal to you as I am, master," she replied, "However much he may hate it. If you are asking if I detected any misdirection the answer is no."

"What do you think of the circumstance Kreacher described," Harry pressed.

"Plausible master," Hermione mused, "Voldemort's rise was not initially a reign of terror – he won many followers when hiding behind a benign if bigoted masquerade. Followers who paid the price if they could not stomach the truth behind the masque."

"And the Artefact?"

"If Voldemort wanted it safe then destroying it would likely weaken him, master. I could not say more without further study."

"Dark Lord's pendant, Harry Potter Sir." Kreacher announced himself.

"Put it on the floor and step back," Harry ordered before turning to his slave, "Hermione?"

"Yes master?"

"What is that thing?"

In reply she drew her wand and hit the pendant with several diagnostic charms, an expression of disgust forming on her face.

"It is ugly master" she commented, "I can feel foul intent leaking from it – it would probably warp the mind of anyone who donned it. The protective enchantments are undeniably impressive, however. No amount of mundane force would so much as scratch it. We are going to need a specialised pick to crack this lock."

"Do you have what you need?"

"Just time master."

"Good. Keep it secret, Kreacher, keep it safe."

"Potter master wants Kreacher to protect bad Dark Lord's pendant?"

"Protect it from getting lost or stolen," Harry clarified, "We need to know exactly where to find it when we destroy it."

"Yes Harry Potter Sir! Kreacher will do it!"

"Hermione," Harry asked after Kreacher had left, "Was there anything else?"

"I am unsure master, but it may have been a potent artefact that Voldemort later corrupted. There where signs of older magics under the stinking corruption."

"So it may be something we can turn against Voldemort, his strength to our strength."

"Possibly master."

"Think about it," Harry ordered her, "We can not afford any mistakes. Tomorrow I want you to catalogue the contents of this library and shelve my new additions. Make sure that you have a good idea of where to look for specific answers."

"Yes master."

"Now get to bed. You have another long day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Yes master."

Harry felt a bitter smile as he watched the forlorn figure of Hermione Granger depart. It was necessary, he was sure, to keep her this way. There was no way he could do this alone – he needed a loyal researcher – and she had already betrayed him after all. That did not mean he had to like it, any more than it meant she did. More than that, though, the question boiling in his mind was:

"Who else has betrayed me?"

. . .

Harry woke the following morning to the sound of movement in the Library, having fallen asleep in his chair. A glance at the clock showed that it was still early, but Hermione was already working at the shelves, adding the books and catalogues he had gathered. He left quietly to find Kreacher in the kitchen and ordered breakfast – something that the little house elf was more than happy to arrange despite the early hour.

"Hermione," he called when it was done.

"Yes master," she answered behind him.

"How did you do that?" he asked, startled.

"You summoned me master." she replied, "One of the powers the enslavement ritual bestowed upon you as my master, just as it bestowed upon me the power to answer your summons."

"I see," he mused, "Time for breakfast."

"I shall see to it, master."

"Kreacher already has," Harry told her, "So sit and eat."

"It is not proper for a slave to dine with her master," Hermione objected.

"As my slave you are obligated to do as I instruct you," Harry replied, making sure to clearly enunciate every syllable, "Sit, Eat."

"Yes master."

Hermione sat at the table and began chewing through the meal Kreacher had prepared for her, whilst Harry took a seat away from his former friend before doing the same. As they ate Hermione updated him on her progress – the Black library had been well structured and she had already managed to place his new additions appropriately. There where some gaps in the knowledge provided, of course, but they could be filled in as and when required. Books on healing, for example, where rare and often outdated when compared to the Black family's extensive collection of dark curses.

"Anything else," Harry asked when he had finished.

"Yes master," Hermione replied, "Your letter."

"Gringotts telling me that I need to claim my magical inheritance." Harry commented after skimming the letter she passed him, "What do you think."

"Sounds conceivable, master."

"Sent your leaving letter to Hogwarts yet?"

"No master," Hermione drooped as Harry handed her a sheet of parchment.

"Write it up," he told her, "Then you can post it when we go shopping."

"Shopping master?"

"Yes Hermione, shopping" he replied, "I'll draw up a list of items for you to collect while I am in the bank."

"Yes master."

. . .


	3. A Magical Inheritance

A Magical Inheritance

Harry walked back into Gringotts that morning with the letter in hand and went strait to the counter to introduce himself and his mission:

"Mr. Harry Potter to see Solicitor Snaphook." he announced, presenting the letter.

"Ah, Mister Potter." the goblin glanced at the letter before directing him to a private receiving room, "I shall inform Solicitor Snaphook of your arrival."

"Please do," Harry replied, glancing around at the cheap wood panelling, "Thank you."

"Mr. Potter," Solicitor Snaphook introduced himself shortly after, "I trust that you are here to claim your inheritances?"

"Yes," Harry replied shortly.

"Then I will conduct the Ritual of Inheritance." Snaphook replied, "Are you familiar with the ritual?"

"No,"

"It is quite simple," the solicitor assured him, "You are here to claim what is your right by blood and magic. To do so, place seven drops of your blood in this ink well and add a blood quill. Focus your magic into the blood – the wells are merely enchanted foci – until the quill begins to tremble. Then place it upon the parchment and magic will do the rest. I would advise you to avoid spell casting until the ritual is done, as it is sensitive magic and liable to react poorly to interference."

"I understand," Harry replied, thinking that the goblin's grin revealed far to many teeth, and reached for the ink well.

Nicking his finger with the blade Snaphook had provided, Harry dripped the requisite number of blood drops into the well. Snaphook added the quill and Harry picked it up, allowing his eyes to grow distant as he focused on the flow of magical energy between himself and the well.

"Not so hard, Mr. Potter." the goblin admonished him, "Let your power flow gently; the ritual can not be rushed by force."

"Sorry," Harry murmured, focussing on the flow again, "Quill brings back bad memories."

"Used one by mistake?"

"No mistake. Detention."

"Hogwarts forces students to use blood quills in detentions?"

"One teacher," Harry corrected him, "And she only lasted a year. Back working for the Ministry now."

"Of course she is," Snaphook rolled his eyes, "And they call goblins barbaric."

"Clever as they come, but not the friendliest of beings," Harry recalled, "Is how I was introduced to you."

"A much more accurate summary I assure you," Snaphook informed him, "It appears that the quill is ready – place the well on the parchment."

Harry watched as the quill drifted out of the well and settled on the parchment, moving in a slow dance that spelled out the "Rights of Inheritance of Harry James Potter". Writing at around a character a minute meant that the quill took quite a while to finish. Snaphook assured Harry that it was quite normal, occasionally dispatching a goblin runner to gather the paperwork that would be needed once the quill was done.

. . .

"How precise is this inheritance ritual?" Harry asked, watching the quill inscribing the thirteenth name.

"Very," Snaphook replied, "If you are the last in the line of the family, whether by law, magic or blood, the ritual will find and assign you the inheritance."

"Then why so many?" Harry asked, gesturing at the parchment.

"Two reasons." Snaphook replied, "The first and most pressing is that the recent troubles in the wizarding world has drastically depleted the population and brought many family lines to the point of extinction, leaving those with the most tenuous of relation to inherit. The other is that the ritual can only be done for a witch or wizard – muggles and squibs are unable to inherit."

"Why not let them inherit?"

"Technically, under law, squibs and muggles can inherit," Solicitor Snaphook sighed, "In practice, the rituals Gringotts has developed to allow this have been outlawed by the Ministry of Magic. I myself developed a variant of the ink well 4 decades ago that would draw on the token magical traces in squibs. Still no good for muggles, of course, but the Ministry banned it anyway. I believe that they are deliberately trying to prevent power leaving the hands of wizards."

"Is that the only purpose of the ritual?" Harry asked, "Keeping muggles and squibs out?"

"Of course not," Snaphook assured him, "It allows us to trace tenuous inheritance of otherwise lost lineages, as we see here. It guarantees that the lineage is genuine, and not just a trick of the paperwork. More importantly, there are two degrees of inheritance – Inheritance under the Eyes of the Law; and Inheritance in the Eyes of Magic. Even muggles can manage the former, which is merely a matter of paperwork. The Ritual of Inheritance is required for the latter."

"I think I see."

"Many ancient estates are more akin to magical artefacts," the goblin added, pleased to have an attentive audience, "Massive and immobile, answering only to the rightful heir. Stewards can be keyed into the magic, but only a genuine heir can inherit full control over the dormant powers of these estates. Another reason for the Ministry to keep them out of muggle hands. And with that, we appear to be done."

The quill had fallen over and lay quiescent beside the fourteenth name, which Snaphook glanced over before taking out several sheets of parchment records.

"The ritual may take care of magical inheritance, but the paperwork must still be done." he explained, "Would you like a full break down of your inheritances or a brief summary?"

"Summary for now," Harry decided, "I'll read over the full break down when I have more time."

"Of course, Mr. Potter." Snaphook made some quick calculations on a spare sheet before turning back to his client, "Total financial assets are approximately 169 million galleons, an oddly auspicious number, with a projected annual income of 250 thousand galleons after payments."

"What payments?"

"Maintenance, taxes, service fees, and a regular stipend to both Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Can I cancel it?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Your inherited position as Head of the Ancient and Noble house of Black enables you to do exactly that."

"Then cancel the stipend." Harry instructed, "I'm not paying Death Eaters to hunt me."

"A wise decision sir," the solicitor agreed, "Also included are several pieces of real estate, approximated total value 333 thousand galleons, though some may be in considerable disrepair or otherwise occupied by stewards."

"I'll see to them individually." Harry promised.

"There are two further items worthy of closer consideration." Snaphook added, indicating the first "The first is a title: 'Lord Caer Azkaban' and I am afraid that I can tell you very little about the holdings or finances involved – shall I summon your retainers?"

"Umm… what?"

"You have inherited the Lordship over the castle and island of Azkaban," Snaphook patiently explained, "That includes a number of servants who run the place and would be far better placed to explain the holdings involved than I."

"Okay then," Harry decided, "The sooner I meet with them the better."

"Very good sir," the goblin walked over to the door and shared a few words with the runner outside before returning to the table, "The second item is Hermione Granger."

"What about her," Harry asked, feeling sick as her saw the name on the parchment.

"The positioning suggests that Hermione Granger is owned by you, rather than a title inherited by you." Snaphook explained, "Which means that you legally and magically own everything she does. Normally those titles would follow on, but it appears that she has yet to inherit."

"Both parents still alive,"

"That would explain it," Snaphook agreed, "There are ways around that, but they don't tend to just happen. Now if we return to the paperwork..."

. . .

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door announcing the arrival of a pale beauty from Azkaban. She wore a simple black robe with grey stitching, which threw her pale skin into sharp contrast. Her sleek hair was long and as black as the ravens' wing; her eyes the piercing blue of unblemished ice. She bore no adornments save a single large tome clutched in a wiry arm.

"Reporting as ordered," she announced herself in a crisp tone.

"Harry Potter," he replied, standing to offer his hand, "Lord Caer Azkaban"

"All Hail the Lord of Azkaban," she knelt and kissed his hand, "Long may he rule."

"Uh, why don't you introduce yourself?" Harry managed to stammer, the unreality of the situation overwhelming him.

"My name is Sable, my Lord." she answered, still on one knee with her eyes on his hand, "I am your personal servant and assistant."

"You can call me Harry," he sighed, trying to inject some normality into the bizarre encounter.

"It would not be proper to publicly address my Lord informally," she replied with a glance at the goblin, "Though if my Lord wishes I may do so in private."

"Your Lord wishes," Harry tried to echo her oddly formal manner of speaking, "Please do so."

"As you wish, my lord." she replied, "Was there anything else you wished of me?"

"What do you know of inheritance and banking law?" Harry asked with a gesture at the stacks of parchment, "We still need to get the paperwork in order."

"I am able to help with any paperwork you may have," she replied, somewhat hesitantly, "And can reference any standards I need."

"Excellent," Snaphook announced, "Then I can leave you to finish yourselves. Please ensure to file the correct forms with Gringotts before you leave."

"We will," Harry promised the departing goblin.

Sable assumed the goblin's seat and began filling out the remaining paperwork. She moved through the pages at a brisk pace, and Harry could see that any help he might offer would only be a hindrance so he sat and let her work.

"What are your duties?" he asked, to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"My Duties?" she almost smiled, happier at the return to familiar ground, "As I said, my Lord..."

"Harry,"

"Harry, I am your lordship's personal servant and assistant. My duty is to serve my Lord Azkaban in any way he desires, and to make his life as easy as possible."

"My apologies."

"My Lord?"

"My life has never been easy," Harry explained, "Not since Voldemort hunted me down as a child. Keeping my life 'As easy as possible' is likely to be a horrible and unfulfilling task."

"Duty is it's own reward." Sable quoted.

"What of Azkaban?" he inquired, "What can you tell me of my new holdings."

"Azkaban has been without a Lord for some time," she admitted, "And because of that it had fallen under Ministry control. By Treaty, the Ministry of Magic has right of stewardship in the event that no heir inherits the lordship, though the return of your Lordship has broken that. You are the rightful ruler of the island of Azkaban, which includes the castle, town and prison. There is also a rocky moorland where the shepherd likes to keep his flock, and some cultivated farmland, although I am informed that the island is not fertile enough to be self-sustaining. You have a number of advisors and assistants to tend to more specific matters, though your word is the law of Azkaban. It… it would be easier to show you the lay of the land than to describe it in more detail."

"Thank you, Sable."

"It is my duty, my Lord."

"We are alone," Harry sighed, "Call me Harry."

"As you command; Harry. I am almost finished."

"Thank you, Sable." He sighed, "Hermione."

"Yes master."

"Is your shopping complete."

"It is mas… Harry."

"I have claimed my inheritance," Harry explained to her, passing her the parchment list, "It turns out that the recent troubles have caused something of a shortfall of viable heirs."

"Why am I on this list?"

"Because I own you and everything you own, according to magic." Harry winced, "But it appears you have nothing to inherit anyway."

"Oh." Hermione stared through the parchment with blank eyes.

"On the other hand, I am heir to several extinct houses, including the Island of Azkaban."

"The Prison?"

"Azkaban is more than a block of cells," Sable interrupted, "Though my Lord Azkaban owns them as well."

"The Island hosts a prison, castle and town, even some agriculture." Harry informed Hermione, "Though I've yet to get a proper look at the place. This is Sable, Personal Assistant to the Lord Caer Azkaban."

"Meaning you, Harry."

"Indeed," he favoured her with a small smile, and was pleased to see the clouds in her eyes lift, "And this is Hermione, my Researcher."

"Azkaban has researchers, My Lord." Sable objected.

"None Better." Harry snapped in response.

"I… Yes my Lord."

"Did they have anything suitable in stock?" Harry sighed, "Or will we have to wait?"

"They had a Shadow Cloak that should serve to obfuscate your features, Harry." Hermione replied, proffering a sleek black cloak, "Though much of your requested wardrobe will have to be tailored to order as I was unsure of your measurements.

"Azkaban has tailors as well, my Lord." Sable ventured.

"We'll try them, then." Harry agreed, "Can Azkaban supply armour and weaponry?"

"Yes, my Lord." she agreed, "Both magical and muggle."

"Was there anything else, Hermione?"

"Books, Harry."

"My Lord's library is one of the most extensive in existence." Sable boasted to Hermione's delight, "Though it is admittedly a little outdated."

"Do you have the Flourish and Blotts catalogue, Hermione?"

"I left it at Grimmaud Place."

"We can pick up another copy before we leave, then." Harry decided, "I assume that the Library has a Librarian?"

"Your Lordship has a librarian, the Library does not."

"Why?"

"My Lord of Azkaban has two libraries. Your personal Library, where most of the Rarer tomes are kept; and your larger library which is open to the public. The same librarian tends to both."

"I see." Harry paused in thought before making his decision. "Hermione, go get a catalogue for the librarian. Sable, arrange transport back to Azkaban."

"My Lord, I would suggest that you summon Your Lordship's coach." she ventured as they left.

"How would I do that?" Harry asked, donning his new cloak.

"Simply raise your wand hand above your head and snap your fingers," Sable replied, "As you are the Lord of Azkaban, your coach will respond to your signal."

"This is part of the magical inheritance?"

"Yes My Lord."

"File the paperwork and meet me outside Flourish and Blotts." Harry sighed, feeling that he needed a few moments alone to collect himself.

. . .

"Master… Harry." Hermione greeted him as he approached the store, "There was something that I wanted to show you."

"A Jeweller?" Harry asked with wry amusement.

"A pair of marriage rings." she replied.

"Hermione Granger, are you trying to propose to me?"

"No Harry!" she gasped, "I never… wouldn't,,,"

"Calm down," Harry responded with the first genuine smile he had felt since first uncovering this whole mess, "Explain to me what is so special about these rings?"

"Telepathy, master." she replied from his arms, "The wearer can send thoughts to the mind wearing the other. I thought it might be more convenient than summoning me every time you needed to ask me something."

"Not to mention that you can do a better job if I don't take you away from your books," he commented to her embarrassment, "Thank you Hermione."

"You like it, master?"

"Very much so," he replied, handing her a bag of gold, "Get two pairs."

"Two, master?"

"For Sable," he replied, "Since she knows Azkaban much better than I."

"Of course mas… Harry." she answered with a glance at the crowds, "I shall do so at once."

. . .

Sable found him standing in front of the bookshop, a dangerous looking figure swathed in concealing shadows that betrayed nothing. Hermione joined them shortly after, with a whispered apology that the shop did not have a pair of rings linked to a common ring.

"Azkaban does have your own Jeweller, my Lord." Sable informed him with a wry smile.

"Add him to the list of people I need to see," Harry replied mildly, "At least we have the template."

Raising his hand he summoned the coach as Sable had instructed. For a brief moment or two nothing happened. Then a deep black coach exploded onto the scene amidst the thunder of hooves. The horses where the colour of midnight, their manes and tails blazing orange flames like the fires that flickered in their eyes. The coach itself was a glossy back, the dark shield on the door lined in the thinnest grey.

"My Lord," Sable had rushed forward to get the door as soon as the coach rolled to a stop in front of him.

"What do you think you are doing?" he whispered to the kneeling woman.

"My duty, Lord."

Harry sighed and stepped aboard the coach with a nod to the driver. Hermione and Sable joined him as soon as he was seated – the interior of the coach was as bleak as the exterior, though somewhat more luxurious. Not constrained by the external dimensions of the coach, a comfortable lounge with black furnishings circled a small saerving station.

The brief journey passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until Sable leapt up to open the door for her Lord. Harry could see her kneeling at the foot of the step, and as he stepped out he could see many more people dropping to their knees.

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

. . .


	4. All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban!

All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban!

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

Even after a surreal hour drifting his new domain, the words still echoed in his head. The fact that most of his new servants greeted him with that same salutation likely had something to do with it. From the black-robed dozen on the steps, which Sable had assured him where his personal staff, to the 'lesser' servants who kept the castle running, few had said anything else within hearing of their Lord. Feeling disconnected from his own body by the unreality of the situation, Harry hadn't pressed them for further comment.

Sable had shown him around his keep, the inner domain of his realm as she put it, finishing with the grand tower where they now stood. From here the entire island was visible on a good day. That was the theory, anyway, but Harry was having a little trouble testing that assertion.

"Not that I mind the wind," he said, "But I can't see through this fog."

"The fogs are an ancient part of Azkaban's defences My Lord," Sable proudly supplied, "Though admittedly I can tell you little about them. Detailed accounts of the defensive measures where not always recorded due to security concerns, and some details where lost with the original Azkaban line."

"How can you be certain?"

"An overview of the Island's defences is kept in the main record repository, My Lord" Sable replied indicating her book.

"The main repository of records for the Island of Azkaban is a single book?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

"My book links to the repository," Sable bluntly asserted, "It merely grants access to my Lordship's personal assistant – a measure implemented at the direction of the seventh Lord Caer Azkaban."

"Can you tell me what the other shoe is, then?" Harry stared unseeing over the landscape, his tone distant.

"My Lord?"

"Harry is still waiting for 'the other shoe to drop'," Hermione explained, having adapted to the shifting circumstances more readily than her master, "It's a figure of speech, referring to the bad that accompanies unexpected good."

"I see," Sable took a moment to check her book before replying, "There does not appear to be any record of such a thing, My Lord. It is likely that there is no hidden horror waiting to ambush you."

"I'm not that lucky," Harry replied bluntly, "It just would have been nice to see it coming for a change, but I guess I'm not that lucky either. What where you going to show me next?"

"Umm..." Sable seemed flustered for a moment before her usual demeanour reasserted itself, "I believe that my Lord wished to see the tailor and armourer?"

"I did, yes." Harry agreed, "I need new robes anyway, and something protective would be invaluable."

"I have arranged for them to meet us in your chambers to take your measurements," Sable explained, "Shall we do so now?"

"As good a time as any," Harry agreed, "Please, Sable, lead the way."

"As my Lord commands."

. . .

Harry sank into the luxurious upholstery of his new private sitting room as he watched his girls getting measured up for their new garments. His new 'Master of the Wardrobe' apparently already had Sable's measurements, being as he was responsible for clothing all the castle's inhabitants, but Harry insisted that she get fitted for a set of armour as well. As safe as his life was, he really couldn't afford to take chances.

The Master Armourer had recommended a set of light combat robes – free-flowing and unobstructive, with a solidly reinforced breastplate for good measure. He had assured his Lord that he could enchant the lighter fabric just as effectively, claiming that manoeuvrability and precision counted for more in modern magical combat than blunt defence. Given that the enemy had a fondness for the killing curse, and the only known defence was not being hit, Harry was inclined to agree with the man.

The Master Armourer also proved to be the island's weaponry expert, able to comment on any number of the deadly devices. Crafting them was often done by the smith's guild, apparently, but the overview remained with the Master Armourer rather than the Master Smith. He agreed to pick out some suitable examples for his Lord to examine as soon as he could make a spare moment.

The Master of the Wardrobe, however, regretted that the prior incumbent's robes where unsuited to his new Lord, lamenting that it would take years to build up a suitable selection of robes. Harry instructed him to focus on the semi-formal, since he was not planning on making a scene of himself, and to expand the wardrobe as and when required. He also insisted that the man learn the enchantment from his shadow-spewing cloak.

When the Master of the Wardrobe seemed reluctant to craft cloaks with the express purpose of covering up his other work, Harry suggested that he could make the effect subtler, focusing on the face to obscure his Lord's features rather than his robes. The man agreed that it would be possible (and acceptable) to adapt the enchantment in such a way as to leave the viewer in no doubt that they saw Azkaban's Lord, without letting anyone get a detailed impression. He was muttering happily about variable effects as he finished measuring Hermione before scuttling away to begin his work.

"Sable," he called as the Master Armourer got to work on Hermione, "Would it be possible to arrange a meeting with the Librarian?"

"Of course my Lord," she reminded him, "You may meet with any of your subjects at any time. Shall I call the Librarian now?"

"Please," he asked, sighing as she strode over to the door to pass on his instructions, "Is there anywhere else we need to go today?"

"Well..." Sable glanced uncertainly at Hermione before continuing, "Is it My Lord's intention to keep her here?"

"Of course," Harry replied, the words tasting bitter in his mouth as he continued, "Hermione is my friend, and her research abilities are unparalleled. I need her."

"Then I would suggest setting some time aside to visit the island's psychiatrist." Sable offered, "Given the proximity of so many Dementors, they are some of Azkaban's most valued individuals. My Lord excepted, of course!"

"Of course," he sighed, "I won't drag them away from their patients if I can help it, then. We will go to see them later."

"As you wish, My Lord."

They where interrupted by the arrival of a breathless Librarian, who gasped his declaration of loyalty just as the Armourer left. A sighing Harry gestured at the man to rise before introducing him to Hermione as his researcher.

"May I presume that you wish me to give Mistress Granger access to your library, My Lord?" he inquired after getting his breath back, "You should understand that they have become sadly outdated without a Lord to maintain them."

"Yes, including my private library," Harry agreed, "Regarding the latter… Hermione, you have the catalogue?"

"Yes master," she replied, immediately proffering the requested book which caused a quartet of jeweller's boxes to fall to the floor.

"I had forgotten," Harry sighed at the sight, "Do you remember which pair is which?"

"Yes master," Hermione replied, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Take this catalogue," Harry told the man, "Order anything in it not already on your shelves and I'll cover the cost. Ask them if we can set up a standing order to cover any further additions to the stock."

"Yes my Lord!" he happily exclaimed, "Gladly my Lord."

"Let me know of any other good sources if you can find them, but that should at least keep the basics well covered. Before you do that, however, I'd like you to show Hermione to the private Library."

"Of course, My Lord."

"Hermione, remember that you don't have to read the entire library overnight." Harry advised her, "Just catalogue to begin with. You're my researcher – make sure you don't have to research where to start researching when I have a question that needs answering."

"I… I understand, master."

"But first… the rings?"

They where undeniably beautiful. Hermione called them 'caduceus rings" - a plain metal band with two snakes twisted around it, each with the other's tail in it's mouth. One pair of rings had silver snakes curled around a golden band, the other pair where distinguished by the golden snakes twined around each silver band. Harry kept one of each, gifting a golden snaked ring to Sable and a silver one to Hermione.

"My Lord, it is improper for a lowly servant to bear jewellery!" she protested when he offered it.

"It is an enchanted trinket to help you in your duties," Harry wearily explained, "It would be improper to refuse it."

"I… As my Lord commands." she reluctantly submitted, allowing Harry to slide the ring onto her finger.

. . .

The remainder of the day was quite uneventful, other than a brief conversation Harry had with Kreacher. Harry ordered him to keep 12 Grimmaud Place as a safe fallback point for him and Hermione, and promised to look into setting up a more secure link. Stressing that the House Elf's primary duty was to safeguard the locket from falling into Voldemort's hands, he accepted Kreacher's efforts at dinner, calling on Hermione through the ring rather than summoning her as he had that morning.

Was it really only that morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

Sable excused herself to make the beds when Kreacher brought the dinner, after ascertaining that Harry was not intending to share his bed (a blunder for which she most profusely apologised, much to Hermione's embarrassment). As there was a bedroom adjoining the 'little' sitting room of the Lord's suite for guests, she prepared that instead.

With little prompting Hermione described Harry's new private library as a two story tower room, with a balcony ringing the upper story and two broad writing desks – one on the floor, opposite the door, one on a bulge in the balcony above the door.

"It was a beautiful room," she enthused, "I've never seen such valuable books – there was even an original copy of _The Book of Coming Forth by Day_!"

"What is that?" Harry asked with a small smile.

"It's an ancient Egyptian manuscript," she told him, "One of, if not _the_ , oldest books in the entire known world."

"I didn't know you could read ancient Egyptian," Harry commented.

"I can't," she drooped, "Your new Librarian can, though. He said it was good to speak with someone who actually cared for a change."

"Is Azkaban not a literary community, then?"

"Oh, the other library sees plenty of use." Hermione assured him, "Or so I've been informed. I think he meant that most people are too easily discouraged. If they can't read the language they ignore it and grab a different book."

"An understandable inclination." Harry commented, "You can usually find what you need in another book faster than you can learn a new language from scratch."

"True master, but there's no guarantee that what you want can be found elsewhere."

"It's a gamble," Harry explained, "And humans are hard wired to pick the better bet. Learning a new language might give a better return on investment, especially if there are enough other sources to use, but in general probably won't."

"I… I suppose you are right, master," Hermione reluctantly agreed.

"Not that I am trying to dissuade you from learning," Harry added, "Though you probably won't have time to learn every language ever written, it might be fun to see you try."

"I am not that ambitious master," she smiled sadly, "And you a right that we don't have time if we are to find the answers we need, especially when you have another servant who can already read it."

"Next time inquire about the possibility of a magical translation device." Harry suggested, "Even if it can't provide a perfect translation, or work in all instances, knowing when something is worthy of further investigation and a proper translation will likely make your task a lot easier."

"I am your slave master," she reminded him, "My ease is not your concern."

"Wrong again," he corrected her, "I need you to do the best job possible, not punish yourself by making the work longer or harder. Even if I didn't need you at your best, I would still insist. I'll cover the cost, as usual."

"As you wish, master."

Harry sighed at the response. Hermione's binding may have left her loyal, but he still found himself missing his old friend. Keeping the reminder of all he had thought he had around was proving to be just as much of a punishment for his gullibility as she felt it was for her betrayal. His life was hard enough now that he found himself doubting every word from every mouth, but he still needed his old friend.

"Are you alright, master?" Harry barely noted the concern tinging Hermione's voice.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione." he told her as he rose, "Pleasant dreams."

. . .

Harry drifted through to his own bedroom, where the solitude of a grand four-poster awaited him. It was a comfortably appointed room, easily able to serve as a study or lounge (though he had dedicated rooms for that) as well as a sleeping chamber. After years under the Dursleys, and the communal dormitories at Hogwarts, this was an unfamiliar luxury.

Sable was waiting between the sheets, having laid out his night clothes on the bed. He drifted closer as she greeted him, his puzzlement growing as she carefully slipped out of the bed until he noticed that there wasn't a stitch on her.

"What are you doing, Sable?" he stammered, averting his eyes.

"My duty, Lord." she replied, "Ensuring your bed is a comfortable temperature."

"What about your robes?"

"I am your servant, Lord Harry, and it is my duty to serve you in any way you may desire," Sable answered perturbed, "It should not bother me for you to gaze upon this body which belongs to you."

"Please put some robes on," he pleaded, "And give me some privacy. I want to get some sleep."

"I… Yes my Lord." she submitted.

"Good night, Sable. Pleasant Dreams."

"You too, My Lord."

. . .

The following morning, Harry was ripped from his after-slumber doze by a commotion at his bedroom door. After a few moments convincing himself that the previous day had really happened, and was not a dream sent by one of his many enemies to torment him, he rose to see what was happening outside.

He found Hermione and Sable arguing, the latter slumped against his door with her robes in some minor disarray. She was the first to notice his arrival, springing to her feet to greet him as the door swung open. Hermione was not far behind, disappointment radiating from her posture.

"Why master?"

"Why what, Hermione?" Harry asked bluntly.

"You forced Sable to spend the night on the floor." she whispered, her disappointment now tinged with fear.

"Sable," Harry sighed, "Why were you sleeping on the floor?" Harry asked, "Don't you have a bedroom of your own?"

"No my Lord." she replied, "As your personal servant it is my duty to remain by your side at all times to serve your needs. I can not serve you if I am away from you, so it is expected that I take the nearest floor if you banish me from the bed."

"Find a bedroom nearby," Harry sighed, feeling the early hour as he tried to process her insistence, "I'll not have you sleeping on the floor."

"As you wish my Lord," Sable replied smoothly, "There is a servant bedchamber adjoining yours..."

"Fine," Harry snapped, "And since we're in private, call me Harry!"

Harry turned on his heel and marched back to the bed, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself before looking for his clothes. Sable followed with a cloth package in her hands, from which she laid out a set of robes on the bed. A long light robe overlaid by a shorter, heavier robe, of purest black though the latter was edged in silver. With it she placed a navy blue cloak, the hem stitched with silver runes that echoed shadow.

"The Master of the Wardrobe sent this up for you," she explained, "He apologises for the hasty work, but believes that it should suit your purpose. The cloak is a prototype of the enchantment you requested, and will probably require replacement within the month."

"That was fast," Harry commented, determined to settle down after his last outburst.

"Apparently the shadow-spewing enchantment is old enough to be common knowledge, though it has fallen out of favour and so wide-spread use." Sable explained, "Adapting the effects proved relatively simple, though creating a stable variant will take considerable time."

"Be sure to pass on my thanks,"

"Yes my… Harry," she stammered, "Would you like to dress yourself again,"

"Indeed," Harry stated, "If you would give me a little privacy,"

"As you command, Harry. What would you like for breakfast?"

"What is there?"

"The kitchen will provide what you desire Harry" Sable stated, her eyes downcast.

"Full English, then." Harry decided after a moment's thought, "Make sure there is enough for three."

"The kitchens will provide as much as you desire, Harry." Sable replied with a bow as she retreated out the door.

. . .

After dressing himself, Harry let Sable guide him through the corridors to his personal dining room, where she laid placed the food before him. Hermione had joined them again, and reluctantly took a seat with little prompting, provoking a frown from Sable.

"Are you not going to eat, Sable?" Harry asked.

"It would be unspeakably rude to eat in my Lord's presence, Harry." Sable immediately objected, "To say nothing of sharing his table. I will grab something as my duties allow."

"I insist," Harry eyed the woman hovering at his side, "You can't fulfil your duties if you are famished. Sit. Eat."

"But my Lord..."

"Now Sable." Harry instructed in a low voice.

"Very well, Harry." she acceded, placing her tome on the table opposite Hermione and adding a plate for her own food.

"Speaking of which, what's after this?"

"Whatever you wish, my Lord… Harry," Sable answered his glare, "However, the Council of Advisors have requested an audience, and await your presence in the audience chamber. Also, the psychiatrist has agreed to an appointment at your earliest convenience."

"I thought that the Psychiatrist was always busy."

"That is true, Harry, but by long tradition they always make new arrivals their highest priority," Sable explained, "I am told that it saves them a lot of work in the long run."

"Prevention is better than a cure," Harry quoted, "What of the Council of Advisors?"

"They are the citizens that directly advise my Lord of Azkaban," Sable explained, "They include representatives of each major branch on Azkaban, including the prison, the guard, the township and the guilds. Their duty is to advise the Lord of Azkaban in their field of expertise, and convey his instructions to those under them."

"I see," Harry slowly processed this as the meal passed in silence, before glancing round to see that his companions had finished, "Council Chambers first, I think?"

"As you command, Harry."

Sable rose with commendable alacrity, leading the way through the keep to the Audience Chamber of Azkaban. Throwing the doors wide, she drew every eye as she announced their arrival:

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

. . .


	5. Psychiatry and Council

Psychiatry and Council

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

Sable's silent whisper in the back of his mind directed Harry to take his throne so the audience could begin. He stepped forward, glancing around the tall chamber. It was square, with a balconied gallery surrounding it on three sides. The large door, obviously set aside for the public, was positioned opposite the smaller door through which he had entered. A glance to the side showed a grand chair of what appeared to be wrought ebony on a raised dais, which could only be the throne. As Harry moved to take it, his slave and servant waiting just inside the door, he was struck by the contrasts in the room. The edges where plain, done in pale colours yet shrouded in shadow, the centre of the room covered in black flagstones and bright sunlight, which shone off the silver shapes pressed into the floor. His own dais was somewhat elaborate, dark, and stood outside the illuminated area.

If one of the kneeling advisors where to glance at their Lord, they would doubtless see little.

"You may rise," he commanded them, following the script Sable was whispering into his mind.

"If it pleases my Lord Azkaban," a short sedentary man (Chief Warden of the Prison, according to Sable) began as they rose, "The council has asked that I go first."

"Of course,"

"My area of responsibility is the Azkaban Prison," he explained, "And we have been critically understaffed since the mass Dementor breakout."

"Have you no guards at all?"

"A few of your Dementors remained loyal," he admitted, "And we do have a number of human employees, and fewer cells to watch after the breakouts, but we would all be grateful if you would recall the Dementors to Azkaban."

"Gladly, but how?"

"Just call them back – Azkaban will do the rest." he explained while Sable's thoughts tickled the back of Harry's mind:

"The Dementors are bound to Azkaban by the ancient magic of this island," she explained, "Simply speak the command aloud on Azkaban and the island will see it done."

"Dementors," Harry called aloud in response, "Return!"

"Only the true Lord Caer Azkaban can command this magic which rules the Dementors," Sable continued unnoticed by the council, "The stewards could not affect them."

"Thank you, my Lord Azkaban," the warden sighed, "That is a weight off of everyone's mind, I am sure."

"Glad to help," Harry felt the magic of Azkaban stirring around him in response to his order – it felt old and and implacable, as inevitable as eventual Death.

"Was there anything else?"

"Yes, My Lord." A wiry witch (Commander of the Guard) answered, "I would like your Lordship's permission to recruit muggles into our forces here on Azkaban."

"Muggles?"

"An old tradition of Azkaban," she asserted, "They have proven to be extremely effective despite lacking magic."

"I am well aware of it," Harry informed her, "You may do so, but be sure to vet your candidates thoroughly. Muggles can cause just as many problems as they can solve under the right circumstances."

"Of course my Lord," she smiled and bowed, "Thank you. The ministry stewards had refused to consider the matter."

"Of course they would," Harry muttered darkly.

"One further matter for your consideration, my Lord?" asked the Mayor of Azkaban, a spry sage in appearance, "I have received several requests for citizenship recently – would you be willing to grant them?"

"I'm afraid you will have to explain that one to me." Harry frowned.

"Inmates are sentenced to stay 'at the pleasure of My Lord Azkaban'," the mayor explained, "Which essentially gives you total power over them unless and until the courts revoke their sentence. Until recently this has meant that they remain locked in the prison's cells until their sentence is served and the ministry chooses to release them onto the mainland, but historically they could also be granted citizenship. As free citizens of Azkaban they are not technically pardoned, but they do have the freedom of the island if they should choose to respect it."

"I'll review their files individually then," Harry decided, "Have them sent up when you can."

"Very good my Lord." he agreed.

"Was that the last of our business?"

"The Guild Masters are here as a show of our allegiance to you as our Lord Azkaban," a sallow faced woman replied, "Long may you rule."

"Long may he rule" echoed the council.

"Very well, then," Harry returned to the script as he rose from his seat, "You are dismissed."

. . .

After sweeping out of the Audience Chamber with the two girls in his wake, he allowed Sable to guide him to the keep's front door where his carriage waited to take them into town. The town was dressed in a mixture of drab and pale colours – vibrant decorations where few and far between – not even the flowers where bright spots.

The townsfolk, on the other hand, where a different matter. Upon seeing the coach they pointed with broad smiles, before suddenly remembering their place and bowing to the passing coach whilst praising the Lord Caer Azkaban ("Long may he rule!"). It was starting to make Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"Why do they praise me so," he mumbled aloud, "It's not like I did anything for them..."

"You are our Lord, our Protector," Sable told him, "Harry, you are their hope for a better future, one free of the ministry and it's wretched stewards."

"They love me because I'm better than Fudge?" he asked, incredulous, "Gosh, thanks."

That startled a laugh out of his companions, and Harry fought a genuine smile of his own at the sound. After composing herself, Sable tried again:

"The last steward of Azkaban took a liking to one of the servants at the castle." she explained.

"That's nice," Harry commented.

"He did not care that she was married," Sable continued smoothly, "He petitioned the ministry to annul and outlaw marriages on Azkaban. He claimed that he would throw the Husband to Dementors in the deepest recess of the prison, but offered to commute the girl's life sentence to community service – as his bed slave. The petition was to go before it's final hearing today."

The silence in the wake of that declaration was loud enough to echo in the comfortably cushioned space. Harry sat in shock, his mind dancing with visions of horror. Hermione stared at the woman with a similar slack-jawed expression of disgusted terror until Sable broke the silence.

"You saved her from that, Harry. He is no longer the steward so his petition holds no weight. Even if he did manage to pass some similar law they are your citizens under your rule, outside the ministry's sway. They are safe because you are our Lord Caer Azkaban. You are our everything, and we are eternally grateful."

"And if Harry were to start demanding their bodies?" Hermione hissed in shock.

"I wouldn't..." Harry began.

"There is not a citizen on Azkaban that would not offer themselves freely," Sable replied, "Though some may be reluctant to abandon their current partners if that is also demanded."

"I won't." Harry repeated a little more forcefully.

"Thank you, Harry." Sable spoke in a quiet voice, "It has been too long since we have had a noble rule. Please, though, do not constrain yourself on my account."

So saying she got up and opened the door, kneeling at the foot of the steps as she had before. Harry sighed, and followed, his confusion mystery of her words dissolving into recollection of the reason they were here. The Psychiatrist House was right in front of him.

. . .

The Psychiatrist proved to be a lovely couple, if a little overwhelmed by their new Lord's presence. One was always on hand to tend to developing problems, they explained, the other for potential problems. One stayed in the reception whilst his wife lead the three of them up to a study on the first floor.

"I'm a little older and more experienced, my Lord," she explained, "So I get most of the important cases. I'm afraid that my husband lacks the confidence to aid you himself."

"Quite alright, miss..."

"Just Psychiatrist, my Lord," she replied, "We abandoned our names for safety and sought refuge in our titles."

"Psychiatrist, then," Harry continued, "I'm well aware that I can make for an imposing figure."

"Sable I recognise, though your researcher is new. Will you all be wanting a check-up?"

"Please," Harry agreed, "I would not wish to waste any more of your time than necessary."

"It would be an honour, My Lord." she replied with a bow, before directing him to take a particular seat, "This chair bears enchantments that aid my analysis. Hold still please..."

She waved her wand at Harry's head a few times before reaching for a crystal ball and repeating the process. She frowned at the results and tried again. Finally she produced a mirror and asked Harry to stare into it.

"Very curious," she murmured to herself, "My Lord, you are a trained occlumens?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, "I went through some training but it did not seem to stick very well."

"How were you trained?"

"A legilimens forcing his probe into my thoughts repeatedly until I was able to force it out." Harry replied, "Repeat the exercise as needed, until he decided I was never going to learn and threw me out."

"There are better ways, my Lord," she informed him, "Though practical exercises are required to gauge progress at a minimum, there are far more effective methods for fortifying your mind against external and internal intrusion."

"Internal intrusions?"

"After a probe or spell has penetrated your outer defences it must still contend with the inner," she explained, "We normally provide basic occlumency training for new arrivals, though your position shields you from many of the less pleasant influences on the Island. We would have to work around the botched training you have already received – would you like me to schedule you some training, my Lord?"

"Yes, please." Harry replied, "I may not always be able to rely on Azkaban's wards, after all."

"Of course my Lord," she bowed and gestured for Hermione to take my place.

"Hmm," she muttered, glancing between us, "My Lord, would I be correct in saying that Hermione is your slave?"

"Wait, what?" Hermione gasped.

"You are under the effect of an enslavement magic," the Psychiatrist explained, "I think I recognise the magical signature as linking to his Lordship, but I needed to be sure."

"It is," Harry stated bluntly.

"Then you may trust her loyalty beyond all others," the Psychiatrist opined, "It is a particularly fine example, and being sealed with the girl's sincere consent makes it unusually powerful. It will also somewhat shield her mind from other external influences… would you like me to provide her occlumency exercises as well?"

"Please do," Harry agreed, "We will take them together if you can make it work."

"For the most part, my Lord. I will let you know as soon as I have constructed a lesson plan, if it pleases you."

"It would, yes."

"There is something else as well, my Lord," she hesitantly added, "Regarding your slave..."

"What about Hermione?" Harry felt cold at the woman's tone.

"The enslavement magics serve to suppress mind-altering effects not originating from the master," she explained, "I think that I am seeing some suppression, but I'm not seeing anything that looks like a suppressed spell. I will need to investigate further before I have any definitive answers."

"Do it," Harry ordered, "Let me know if you need anything – I'll cover your costs."

"Thank you, my Lord," she bowed to him, "It will be an honour."

. . .

Sable's check-up proved far more routine, as the Psychiatrist already knew her. Her mental shields were developing strength, but lacked subtlety. As the Lord's personal servant, Sable rarely had a cause to go near the Dementors so her mental health was not in issue – her ability to protect his secrets (by her own admission) was. After taking copious notes on the three of them, the Psychiatrist pronounced them all "Fit to Serve!" (save Harry, who she was quick to declare as "Fit to be Served… Long may he Rule!") and agreed to arrange suitable occlumency lessons.

Their next stop was the library of Azkaban, which was kept open to the public by ancient tradition. The building itself was nearly the size of Hogwarts, the crenelated walkways and arrow slits promising a tough siege to any attacker. Sable informed the that it had been the abode of the first Lord Caer Azkaban, and later that of the Lord's steward, before the entire entourage had been moved to the present castle at the direction of the thirteenth Lord Caer Azkaban. As such, it was one of the best defended sites for hundreds of miles (just behind the present Castle Azkaban and the Prison) and so considered an excellent location for the Island's magical armoury by Azkaban's Lords.

"Magical Armoury?" Harry had asked.

"Knowledge," Hermione explained, "The right word can be a terrifying weapon in the hands of a wizard."

The Librarian had been ecstatic to see them, gushing with praise over the new additions that Harry had authorised and equally happy to show Hermione the largest library she had ever seen. Even Harry was taken aback by the sheer scope of the place. Inner walls had been knocked out to provide the library with the largest internal room he had ever witnessed.

A maze of shelves covered the available floorspace, dealing with the basics of ever topic the Lords of Azkaban had ever expressed an interest in. More specialised books where separated into subject specific rooms that bordered the main room, and the more dangerous items where kept under progressively more stringent security measures. The door to the Curses section was kept locked, for example, and books on nastier curses kept locked in their own display cases – some of which were cursed themselves.

Of course, the Lord of Azkaban was entitled to any book he desired, Librarian Aldous was quick to assure Harry, though others might have difficulty accessing the more dangerous tomes without his permission. Harry immediately instructed Aldous that Hermione was to have blanket access to all his books, smiling at the gleam in her eyes before reminding her to catalogue before getting lost trying to read every tome in the room.

Harry and Sable left the two of them together, with Harry silently reminding Hermione to ask Aldous for help on her translation project, and not to miss lunch. He had assigned her to research the families he had inherited, their traditions, titles, customs and fates; whilst Sable helped him through the details of the properties he had inherited. Before that, however, he had a meeting with his armourer.

. . .

"All Hail my Lord Caer Azkaban!" the armourer greeted them outside the Lord's chambers, "Long may he rule!"

"Thank you for coming," Harry greeted the man, "I trust that you have managed to find something suitable?"

"Several, my Lord," he agreed, "Though for best effect I should enchant a weapon specifically chosen by your Lordship."

"We may not have the convenience of that option," Harry opined, "What do you have for me in the interim?"

"My Lord," he bowed, and laid a selection on the table in Harry's sitting room, "Simple, but effective. These weapons are imbued with training enchantments in addition to some standard combat enhancements."

"Training enchantments?" Harry asked with a touch of amusement.

"I'm sorry if I've offended you, my Lord?" on receiving Harry's amused negative, he continued, "I mean that the weapons know what they are supposed to be doing. They will guide your hand as you use them and, in time, teach you their use."

"Like training wheels," Harry realised.

"Yes my Lord," the other man agreed, "When you have had some experience with the weapons, you can decide for yourself which you like best. I would then be honoured to enchant the best example in the land."

"Thank you, Armourer." Harry replied formally, "Perhaps you could describe these?"

"Of course, my Lord." he bowed and obeyed, "First we have a dagger, good for a concealed or offhand weapon. I would not advise anyone to depend upon it as their primary. The second is a short sword, as I judged your Lordship's stature to slight too be suited to an arming sword at present. Third is a sword stick, which generally functions as a short sword or cane, depending on whether the blade is drawn or sheathed. Fourth is a rapier, requiring speed and precision over blunt force, which I suspect will ideally suit your Lordship's build. Fifth is a traditional quarterstaff, which I would not normally recommend as it required two hands to effectively wield. It is an ancient tradition among wizards, however. Last, a singlestick." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Singlesticks are the most commonly melee weapon on the island, since they can be built as oversized wands. Casting from such a wand is a little tricky, but quite manageable for most combat spells. If you should favour a singlestick, I would recommend the Island's Wand Maker over myself."

"Thank you, Armourer." Harry met the man's eye before continuing, "I will let you know what I decide. Also, would it be possible for you to arrange an additional set or someone to help with training?"

"I can provide both, my Lord," he bowed, the ghost of confusion in his eyes, "If you would excuse me."

"Of course," Harry replied, "Dismissed."

. . .

Later that evening, just before Sable was about to lead him to dinner, a servant entered bearing Hedwig on one arm and a raven on the other. Upon spying her master, Hedwig immediately flew over and deposited a letter on the table before Harry. A glance showed that it had been addressed to Hermione in Dumbledore's hand.

"Did you find this at Hermione's house?" he asked, and she bobbed her head in reply, "Good Girl. Are you being treated well at the aviary?" another bob.

"My Lord's personal bird is always treated well," Sable informed him, "Even if she is an owl."

Hedwig turned to glare at Sable as the raven flew over to drop another note in Harry's lap. As it was addressed to Lord Caer Azkaban, Harry shot a questioning glance at Sable before opening it.

"The messengers of Death are the traditional messengers of Azkaban," she replied with a shrug, stroking the bird in question as Harry turned his attention to the letter:

 _My Lord Caer Azkaban._

 _Though my investigation is far from complete, the initial findings are sufficiently disturbing that I felt obliged to immediately inform you of them. The suppressed effect on your slave Hermione results from a mass of extremely weak spells. The cumulative effect is likely to be significant, yet the individual spells are so weak as to pass unnoticed even under such professional scrutiny as we ourselves felt to be complete. Where it not for your enslavement magic suppressing the spells en masse, I would never have found them._

 _Whilst I will endeavour to fully understand and neutralise this problem, it appears that your enslavement magic has successfully suppressed all traces of these influences. Apart from her enforced loyalty she should be unaffected – and based on the sincerity fuelling the magic, that can be judged as no great change._

 _Your Obedient Servant._

 _Psychiatrist and Psychiatrist._

. . .


	6. Eyes and Seers

Eyes and Seers

The following morning Harry once more woke early. Scarcely had he risen from the covers than Sable was at his side and laying out the day's robes. Harry breathed a sigh of quiet relief to see her clothed – he still couldn't get used to her habit of warming his bed of an evening, and he was not at all sure how to react if she started waking him undressed. Still in somewhat of a doze, he did not notice that Sable was helping him into his robes.

Hermione also rose relatively early, greeting Harry as she walked out of her bedroom into the Lord's lounge. In reply he gestured to the table.

"Letter for you, Hermione," he told her, his eyes distant.

"It is addressed to 'Lord Caer Azkaban', master,"

"The other one isn't," Harry sighed, "Though you might as well read both, mine is about you anyway."

"Dumbledore," Hermione muttered bitterly, "Telling me you vanished and begging me to tell him where you are the moment you make contact. Also warning me not to mention that I'm telling him anything and to do everything in my power to persuade you to return to Private Drive."

"Well that last one ain't happening." Harry snorted.

"I think that may be the only one that does, master." Hermione replied with a slight smile, "Since I lack the power to sway you, 'everything in my power' is nothing at all. Do you wish me to reply, master?"

"Didn't he mention your leaving letter?"

"No master. He should have gotten it by now..."

"It seems that he isn't taking you seriously enough," Harry smiled, "So by all means, ignore him. What's done is done, no need to labour the point. Any luck with the translator?"

"Aldous has a translation kit that he is willing to let me borrow." Hermione replied, "It works better for the one it is attuned to, which can only ever be one, but it helps. He also recommended that I get a pair of subtitle spectacles from the Island Jeweller."

"Did he explain what 'subtitle spectacles' are?" Harry inquired, "And why does the kit not come with one?"

"The kit does have one master," Hermione replied, "But it is attuned to your librarian. The kit is large enough that getting a new one would be prohibitively expensive, but the spectacles are a good starting point for a researcher. They provide a loose translation of the text in the form of subtitles on the glasses themselves. Not especially accurate, but a useful starting point such as you suggested master."

"Schedule an appointment with the Jeweller," Harry asked Sable, "I need to talk to him about these rings, anyway. Also, see if you can find out what it would take to get a full translation kit."

"Master!" Hermione bowed as she squeaked, "It fits into a desk!"

"See if any of it can be made here, at the very least," Harry continued, "Perhaps we can add one to my private library."

"I will see what can be done, Harry." Sable relied with a bow.

"With that excitement out of the way," Harry added, "Let's get breakfast."

. . .

After a brief encounter with the council, who advised him that all remained well on Azkaban, Harry found himself standing in front of the Jeweller's shop. Like most of the buildings in the town of Caer Azkaban, it had been constructed in the style of a Tudor shell, albeit with a little more stone than had been common in those days. The glass-fronted shop displayed the owner's wares under lock and key, making the sign over the door quite superfluous.

"All hail the Lord Caer Azkaban!" the Jeweller stuttered after conquering her shock, "Long may he rule!"

"Guild Master Isabella, I presume?" Harry asked, having been briefed during the ride.

"At your service, my Lord!" she replied, "Do you require any particular gem?"

"I am told that you are the best person to ask for subtitle spectacles," Harry explained, "I also have a ring I would like you to look at."

"Of course, my Lord." she straitened with pride, "I can supply lenses and spectacles of all types – do you require glasses?"

"I do, but the translator is for my researcher," Harry indicated Hermione behind him, "My glasses I need to correct my eyesight."

"Might I see your glasses, my Lord?"

Harry handed his glasses to Isabella, who examined them briefly with a look of distaste before returning them. She shook her head sadly before explaining her opinion.

"I can do you much better than that, my Lord. I can offer self-correcting lenses that will always provide the correct strength, for a start, and far more durable ones at that. There are a number of visual enhancements that I can apply as well, and I can make the enhancements variable, if you wish."

"How so?" Harry asked, curious.

"You would be able to switch them on and off, my Lord, and some could be switched to controlled settings as well." she explained, "Adding any number of enhancements would merely be a matter of time… if I might make a suggestion?"

"Of course,"

"I could provide you with a pair of Permanent Contacts."

"What would they be?" Harry smiled, trying to put the woman at ease.

"Diamond contact lenses, charmed to be as durable as I can make them," she elaborated, "A permanent sticking charm will effectively make it a physical part of your eye indefinitely, and I can still add the other magics on top of that. All it takes is time."

"And time is money," Harry agreed, "Do it, but please make the enchantments controllable. It would be nice to be able to see the difference some times.

"I would be honoured, my Lord."

"Hermione? Show Isabella the rings you found." he turned back to Isabella to explain, "I believe that a variant of these could improve communications here on the island."

"Ah, telepathic conduit." Isabella enthused over Hermione's ring, "A particularly fine example. There are many variants on this spell, my Lord, but they regrettably tend to have a common weakness – everyone is involved in the conversation. If used with a group, the thoughts quickly get confused, and in most cases the users go mad."

"Would it be possible to adapt a switchboard design?" Hermione asked, "Or maybe a client-server system?"

"What?" Isabella blinked in confusion at Hermione's arcane expressions.

"Make the group link more stable by linking through a common point." Hermione suggested, "At a crude level, one master ring could be linked to several slave rings. When the wearer of the Master ring thinks aloud, all the others hear the thought, but the reverse would not hold true."

"That would allow commanders to efficiently communicate with their subordinates," Harry realised, "And to get reports when needed without everyone hearing every report. If you deploy rings based on the chain of command you shouldn't get to much interference..."

"If the master could focus on an incoming connection, that would be better," Hermione agreed, "But establishing a full switchboard would be a far more complex undertaking."

"The first two, I can do," Isabella agreed, "It will take me quite some time, but I can definitely do it. As for the rest… give me time. Perhaps I'll think of something."

"If you need help, I can arrange it." Harry assured her, "Take the time to be thorough."

"Always my Lord." she replied, "And if you could put me in touch with the enchanter who worked on these rings I will be forever in your debt."

"Worried we might need too many?" Harry inquired with a light laugh.

"As I said, it is a particularly fine example of this type of spell." she demurred, "I'd rather modify a good base spell."

"Sable, see it done."

"As you command, my Lord."

"How soon can you have the subtitle spectacles for Hermione?" he pressed

"I'll have a pair ready for fitting tomorrow morning." the Jeweller promised to Hermione's delight.

Good," Harry smiled to see her happy, "Good luck on your endeavours, and let me know if you need anything."

"My Lord is as generous as he is wise." Isabella bowed deeply to him.

I'm not so sure about that, Harry thought to himself as they left the Jeweller's shop.

. . .

Back at the castle, Sable informed him that the Master Armourer was waiting to introduce him to his private training room, so they went there. Hermione was reluctant, but Harry reminded her that life around him was dangerous and that she was going to need to fight sooner or later. He then added that a basic practical grounding would make her academic studies much easier, by which time they had arrived and it was too late for her to duck out.

"My Lord Azkaban," the man went down on one knee as Harry entered the room, "May I be the first to introduce you to your private training hall?"

"It would seem that you are," Harry replied, "I assume that you can show me it's functions?"

"Indeed, my Lord." he rose and indicated several dummies that where standing to attention, "These golems will run through the standard forms if you place an appropriate weapon in their hands. The others are sparring golems of escalating skill. The first will keep to the prescribed forms as a standard opponent – it helps to have an opponent you can see, my Lord. The remainder are lined up in order of escalating difficulty. As soon as you can readily best one, move on to the next in line."

"What about protection?" Harry asked, eyeing the inanimate statues.

"I have modified some training robes to your size, my Lord, and those of your assistants." he replied, indicating a cupboard to one side of the room, "Troll leather chest plate and self-stitching silk. There are charms to dampen the impacts, but not so you won't feel them."

"Pain is the best teacher." Harry quoted.

"A good teacher, my Lord." he bowed, "but not without equal; and I find experience to be the best teacher."

"Hence the golems."

"Live sparring partners are superior, my Lord" he opined, "But the golems should suffice. Would you like me to demonstrate and explain the forms?"

"Please do," Harry nodded, "And where you able to acquire a second set for Hermione?"

"Beside the robes in the cupboard, my Lord."

"Will you join us, Sable"

"My Lord, I have no place wielding a noble weapon." she insisted, "And I have already studied the basics of the singlestick."

"Then would you be able to identify other potential tutors amongst my staff?" he asked.

"I assure you, my Lord, I am quite capable." the armourer nervously interjected.

"I am sure that you are," Harry replied with a nod, "But I am going to need to learn more than hand to hand combat. I need tutors in other things, and it may be best if I did not have to summon them from beyond the Island."

"What did you wish to study, my Lord?" Sable inquired.

"Many things." Harry replied, "Currently there is an ongoing war that needs resolving, and we had to cut our formal magical education short as a result. Find out what people have to teach, and we can try filling in the gaps later."

"As you wish, my Lord." Sable retreated to the doorway, eyes on her book.

"I would like to begin with the dagger, my Lord." the Armourer began, "It is a poor choice for a main weapon, but will not obstruct your wand as many other weapons would..."

. . .

"You have a good stance, my Lord." Azkaban's Master Armourer admitted a few hours later, "And you appear to have excellent reflexes also. Let the magic guide the blade and you won't go far wrong."

"Thank you," Harry nodded his appreciation, "Sable, I think I would like to take an hour here each day, if I could."

"You may do as you wish, my Lord." she reminded him.

"So bear that in mind when you are considering my schedule," Harry gently corrected her, "For the next few months, at least. After I grow more comfortable with my weapons perhaps I can move my focus to other skills."

"It may take more than a few months to master your chosen weapon, my Lord." his Master Armourer advised.

"Of that I have no doubt," Harry agreed, "But I should be good enough that I won't grow rusty from skipping an occasional session."

"An excellent point my Lord," he bowed, "My apologies."

"My Lord," Sable gave a slight bow of her own, "Your luncheon is ready if you would care to dine..."

"What have we scheduled after that?"

"The castle seer has requested to see you, my Lord." Sable frowned, "There is nothing else in your schedule for today."

"See if you can arrange a visit with a spell breaker of some sort, then." Harry requested, "I want to get the ministry trackers off of myself and Hermione if at all possible.

"What trackers?" Sable asked sharply.

"The ones used by the ministry to track underage magic use," Hermione answered, still breathing a little heavily after her workout.

"As Lord of Azkaban you are not subject to the underage restriction," Sable announced, "And the wards of the Island block the ministry from receiving any detections from the Trace."

"Good." Harry smiled, "What of Hermione?"

"The ministry's authority on this matter does not cover Azkaban, hence the wards, though I am unsure how she would be affected if caught casting in mainland Britain." she admitted, "The wards however, cover the Island. They are not specific to your Lordship."

"Schedule an appointment anyway." Harry decided, "We will probably need to leave the Island at some point, and I would like to check for any other unexpected spells."

"Very good, my Lord." Sable agreed, "I will find our spell-breaking expert for you."

"Thank you, Sable. What's for lunch?"

"The kitchens have prepared a selection of meat sandwiches with murtlap pickle." Sable replied after checking her book, "If you would prefer something else..."

"That would be fine, Sable." Harry assured her as they left the room.

. . .

"My Lord! Hail all Azkaban! May he rule long!"

Harry did a double take upon entering the Seer's lair. The walls were covered with the weird and wonderful, as was the floor and even the Seer himself. He wore a sombrero from which hung an assortment of radishes and used corks, a garland of some unidentified vegetation around his neck, and a dozen tiny trinkets hung from the chain that dangled from a wrist. His eyes were hidden behind red and blue lenses, and his gait seemed to shift from drunk to sober and back again every few seconds.

Of course, it was the mangling of the greeting Harry had gotten so used to hearing that first drew his attention. He had not noticed how familiar the phrase was becoming to him until someone misspoke it.

"You wished to see me?" Harry asked, collecting his thoughts after a brief pause.

"My Lord sees right. It is true that I do!" the Seer proudly proclaimed on bended knee, "My age is catching me and death is chasing me, new times are coming round the bend! I will soon pass and leave no mark, no mark save one who in my shoe steps harks!"

"Are you asking about the possibility of a successor?" Harry asked after pondering the seer's phrase for a few moments.

"Glory be; a Lord who sees?" the Seer gasped in shock, "All hail he, all hail he!"

"Who should your successor be?" Harry pressed with a gentle voice, trying to focus the man's scattered thoughts, "Or how shall he be known to me?"

"Not he is she who succeeds me," the seer insisted, "But loopy Looney known to thee."

. . .


	7. Relelations

Revelations

"That was impressively handled, my Lord," Sable expressed genuine admiration after they retired to the Lord's chambers, "Not many of your servants can keep up with the Seer's utterances, and none of the stewards even tried."

"Is he always like this?" Harry asked, pondering the strange man's pronouncements.

"He used to be clearer, but recently has become less so." Sable admitted, "As a Seer he sees many things, often random fragments that make no sense to even him, which makes it a little difficult for him when interacting with the rest of us. It seems he was concentrating particularly hard for you Harry."

"Well at least he doesn't need a translator yet." Harry sighed, "We should get Luna here before he does."

"I will go through the records to see if I can find this 'Loopy Looney' amongst those you've encountered," Sable replied, "You may wish to have your Researcher looking as well."

"Luna Lovegood," Harry informed her, "Only daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood. Editor of the Quibbler. I believe they are holidaying together in Sweden looking for Crumple Horned Snorkacks, whatever they are."

"I… see," Sable was momentarily flummoxed by Harry's pronouncement but quickly pulled herself together, "Do you wish to visit her there or summon her here?"

"I want her to see the Psychiatrist first," Harry decided, "So that I can be sure I am speaking with the real Luna."

"Very good, Harry. I shall contact her immediately."

"I'll write her a letter," Harry decided, "Can you arrange for it to be sent?"

"The messengers of Azkaban are at your disposal."

. . .

"Luna Lovegood?"

"Well, the Seer actually asked for 'Loopy Looney known to thee'," Harry explained over dinner, "But I don't think I know anyone actually called 'Loopy Looney' - does it ring any bells for you?"

"No one apart from Luna master," Hermione confessed.

"Hopefully he won't keep to that name once she arrives."

"That shouldn't be much of a problem, Harry." Sable commented, "The Seers of Azkaban tend to predict their own deaths 'with eerie accuracy' according to the archives. He should have barely enough time to train her in half-controlling their gift before leaving his burden to her."

"Only half control?"

"I am told that, as seers, they can see anything," Sable sighed, "Not everything or even something. Most of what they see is random, and the more they try to see the closer the random fragments come to overwhelming them and shattering their minds. Most of what they learn is limiting the flow to the point that they can process those fragments that come through whilst maintaining some veneer of sanity. I have been advised that blocking the flow entirely has never been achieved – our current seer once mentioned something about 'context without data' but I really didn't follow."

"It's information theory, I think." Hermione commented, "From a branch of Muggle academics – I'm afraid I never made much of a study of the principle so I can not be sure."

"I… see." Sable hesitated as she responded, "Thank you, Hermione."

"What's troubling you, Sable." Harry asked her, concern touching his tone.

"It's not my place to say, Harry."

"A Lord's duty is to care for his servants," Harry informed her, "And I can not do that blind."

"Thank you, my Lord Harry." Sable gave a slight smile as she calmed, "I will be fine."

"Do you doubt me?" he asked through their ring.

"Never, Harry."

Harry sighed as he returned to his meal. It appeared that he would get little out of her tonight. He could only hope that she would stay strong – he needed her support keeping the realities of this new life overwhelming him. A glance at Hermione showed him that she had seen it as well, though she seemed just as ignorant as to what was disturbing the young woman. Perhaps... no. Sable never let herself away from her Lord's side for long enough to be cornered by another.

Adding Sable's mysterious worries to his list of problems he needed to tend to, Harry settled into his chair and resolved to find another way.

. . .

The following morning Harry woke to find Sable already standing by his bed, his robes folded over her arm in place of her ever present book. A quick glance revealed the book on table beside his bed before he shooed her out. He really wanted to dress in peace, and Sable's seeming lack of modesty was beginning to get profoundly unnerving. He was also not at his most pleasant first thing in the morning.

After pulling himself together and rising from his bed, he dressed swiftly in his new robes and threw the shadowed cloak over the ensemble. Glancing at himself in the mirror showed that the shadows wrapped around his face also billowed over the cloak itself, concealing the navy hue of the fabric whilst leaving his robes in plain view. It was certainly an intimidating sight, he mused as he joined his servant and slave for breakfast.

. . .

Harry sat upon his ebony throne shortly afterwards, listening to the reports of his council. Isabella had brought the promised spectacles for attuning to his researcher, and promised to tend to the matter with all due precision whilst lamenting that his contacts would take longer to prepare. Harry assured her that he was quite content to wait for quality work, before dismissing her to tend to the matter in the shadows of the room.

"My Lord," his Commander of the Guard spoke up after the Guild Mistress had stepped aside, "I am informed that you desire to continue your aborted education, and wish me to provide a combat instructor?"

"We are currently at war, Commander," he reminded her, "I feel that I can afford a temporary bias in my education – it may ensure that I survive to correct the discrepancy."

"Of course, my Lord." she replied, "I can instruct you in magical combat personally."

"Combat, or duelling?" he pressed.

"Either, my Lord." she replied, a little surprise evident in her tone.

"Both, perhaps," he commented, "I may have need to act in a formal duel eventually."

"If my Lord wishes, I can also provide some instruction in the tactical and strategic elements of magical warfare,"

"Schedule some time with my assistant for the lessons." Harry instructed her.

"My Lord Azkaban"

"My Lord Azkaban," the Mayor spoke next, "If you require education, might I suggest the squib school?"

"Azkaban has a school as well?"

"Of course, my lord." the man explained, "Squibs are a part of the magical world and require a magical education. Unfortunately, they lack the power to make use of certain elements of practical magic, but some forms of magic are available to them, as well as academic theory. Our school also covers some more mundane subjects as well."

"I'll schedule a visit," Harry promised him, "Anyone else?"

"My Lord," the Commander of his Guard added, "I am your premier spell breaker. As such I make myself available to examine you and anyone else for spells and, if needed, remove them."

"I will require a cursory examination immediately after we are done here," Harry informed her, "We have an appointment with the Psychiatrist shortly and I don't intend to miss it."

"Very well, My Lord." she bowed, followed by the rest of the council as they recited the traditional phrase before shuffling out.

"Please see to my researcher first." Harry then added, silently calling Hermione forward, "We will both need the trace removed at a minimum."

"Easily accomplished, my Lord." she replied, carefully waving her wand at his slave, "I sense several further monitors, do you wish them removed?"

"Hermione?" he asked, "Were you aware of these monitor's presence or purpose?"

"No, Master." she shook her head in reply, "Their purpose is unknown to me."

"Assume malice then," Harry surmised, "Please remove them all, Commander."

"As you wish, my Lord." she hit Hermione with several spells before approaching the dais and kneeling.

"You have something further?" he inquired after Hermione had rejoined Sable by the door, her thoughts tickling the back of his mind.

"I sensed a slave bond," the commander quietly murmured, "She is bound to utter loyalty to her master, and I can not say who."

"I can," Harry informed her, "I am aware of this bond, and the consequences for breaking it. Please, leave it in place."

"As you wish, my Lord." she rose and cast a few spells on her Lord, "The trace has been neutralised, "she informed him, "Nothing obvious besides."

"Thank you, Commander. Kreacher!"

"Yes, master Potter sir?"

"The locket, please?"

"At once, Master Potter sir."

"During the last war, Regulus Black stole a locket from the Dark Lord and tasked Kreacher with destroying it." Harry explained to the Commander, "So far, he has failed. I want you to examine the artefact and tell me what you can of it."

"Kreacher has locket, master Potter sir."

"Place it down and step back," Harry instructed him, "When the Commander here has finished her charms, take it back and keep it hidden until I call on you."

"Yes, master Potter sir."

Rising from his throne, the Lord Caer Azkaban faded into the shadows.

. . .

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!" the Psychiatrist greeted them on arrival.

"Thank you, Psychiatrist," Harry greeted her warmly, "I believe that you have a tentative lesson plan for me?"

"Yes, my Lord." she affirmed, "Though I may need to adjust the plan frequently."

"Quite acceptable, I assure you. What of my other request?"

"A means to detect if newcomers are under the influence of subtle mind altering effects, such as miss Granger was before you bound her?" the old woman seemed to droop, "If I did not know exactly what I was looking for I could never have spotted it – even when I did I could have missed it."

"You said that the suppressing effect of my bond highlighted the presence of the spells," Hermione quietly offered, "Could you not do something similar? Apply a temporary effect that suppresses any and all mind-altering spells and watch for a change?"

"Oh," the Psychiatrist seemed stumped for a moment or two before pulling herself together, "Sounds rather obvious when you put it like that, I'll look into it. First, though, Occlumency."

She had them sit down whilst she explained the basic theory behind the different types of Occlumency, before guiding them through a basic meditation exercise. She explained that this was more to prepare them for the exercises to come than anything else. Occlumency was, above all else, about knowing one's own mind, recognising foreign intrusions for what they where, and thinking your own thoughts.

"My Lord," she asked him when they where done, "With your permission I would like to teach you Legillimency as well. A reasonable grasp of internal Occlumency is needed to separate the foreign thoughts from your own, but there is no other reason for you to delay. It may also prove invaluable to later lessons."

"Thank you, Psychiatrist," Harry replied, "Add it to your lesson plans."

"I will my, Lord," she smiled as she added, "Long may you Rule!"

. . .

Immediately after that they returned to the castle, and the Lord's private chambers. His Commander of the guard was already there, pacing in front of the door, fear and fury on her face. Harry immediately invited her in.

"Something troubles you, Commander?" he asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

"That locket," she spat, "Is polluted with some of the foulest magic I have ever seen. I had to check the archives to confirm the signature, but I can no longer doubt it's nature. It is a Horcrux, My Lord. I recommend that you summon your Ritual master and prepare to cleanse it immediately!"

Harry sent a silent request to Sable as he gestured for the Commander to take a seat. She knelt before him instead as she explained what she had uncovered. A Horcrux, he learnt, was a fragment of a soul broken by cold blooded murder, encased in a physical object to anchor the remainder of the soul to the world. If the creator of such a thing where to die, only his body would actually perish. His soul would linger, unable to form a ghost but able to possess a suitable shell.

"That must be why Voldemort survived Godric's Hollow." Hermione surmised.

"He did claim to be 'less than the meanest ghost' whilst possessing Quirill." Harry agreed, "The only question is, how many of these damn things are there?"

"You think he may have made more?" his Commander asked.

"Certainly," Harry agreed, "That would be most like him. Why risk the destruction of a single anchor when you can have spares?"

"There has never been a record of anyone making more than one of these foul things." the Commander objected, "We have no way to trace additional anchors even if he did go through with it."

"All Hail my Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he Rule!" panted the man in the door.

"Archibald Whetherby, I presume?" Harry inquired, despite Sable's silent whisper explaining exactly who he was.

"Your Ritual Master, My Lord." He explained as he knelt, "I care for your Lordship's temple and preside over those rituals where your Lordship is not present. I take it that your Lordship wishes to undertake the Ritual of Hrafnsmál? I had planned to raise the matter with you this coming Monday."

"Hrafnsmál?" he thought to his two girls.

"Ravensong," Sable replied, "Correctly performed it will grant you the ability to converse with Ravens of all kinds. As the ability can be made hereditary, the former Lords rarely made use of the ritual – the power of Hrafnsmál is a traditional mark of Lord Caer Azkaban."

"As intriguing as that sounds," Harry spoke aloud after a few moments, "It is not why I called upon you. We need to eliminate a Horcrux."

The man's complexion paled at the word – clearly he understood what it meant. Pulling himself together he hesitantly explained that he was unsure if Azkaban retained enough Dementors to complete the required ritual whilst promising to look into the matter with utmost haste. Before he left, he again asked about the Hrafnsmál.

"The Horcrux comes first," Harry told him, "If preparations for the Hrafnsmál ritual do not take away from that, then by all means go ahead."

"There are multiple rituals," he confessed, "We have the ability to perform a relatively simple version – there is very little preparation involved. I shall let you know when all is ready."

"Thank you, Ritual Master."

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long May he Rule!" the man pronounced as he was dismissed.

"Any further troubles, Commander?" Harry inquired of the kneeling woman.

"No, My Lord."

"Then you shall join us for lunch." he declared, "We still have those lessons to discuss."

. . .

Despite her objections she did end up sharing his lunch, though she spent most of it lecturing him on tactics in a blatant attempt to justify her presence. She promised to set up something to help him practise that element of his training, and they spent the afternoon in mock duels as she gauged their skill level. She informed them that they were certainly above average, but with plenty of room to improve. She also watched them sparring with singlesticks, and added that they where not far enough along to try casting with one, reminding Harry to make an appointment with the Island Wand maker.

He also demonstrated his muffled wand to the woman, and the muffling spell. Whilst it could be a hindrance in a one-on-one fight, the ability to cast even the most minor of spells unnoticed could prove invaluable to an infiltrator. She promised to consider the tactical implications of the spell after they stopped for the day. Refusing his invitation to dinner they parted at the door to his dining hall.

"You really shouldn't dine with your servants, my Lord." Sable commented as they took their seats, "even if you allow it, it makes them uncomfortable."

"I'm hardly comfortable with all this myself," Harry replied, "The Freak from the Cupboard doesn't deserve a decent dinner, much less an elegant table all to itself. You have done far more to earn this than I have, Sable. If you don't deserve to be seated at this table, then I certainly don't."

"Freak from the Cupboard, master?" Hermione inquired.

"I lived in the Cupboard under the Stairs for a solid decade, with nothing but a threadbare baby blanket to call my own." he replied bluntly, "Thank goodness I never have to go back there again."

His eyes filled with morose memories, he never noticed the glance that Hermione shared with Sable.


	8. We're off to see the School

We're off to see the School

The following day dawned much as the previous had, with breakfast being a quiet affair and the Lord holding Court. The difference was that today was Sunday – a public session was traditionally held on this day (though none of the stewards had honoured the tradition) so instead of meeting with the council Harry sat upon his throne to hear the cases that his people brought before him.

Sable informed him that his was the highest court on Azkaban – if someone wished to dispute the ruling of another they could bring it to a higher court to be overruled, but none could overrule him. As Lord Caer Azkaban, his word was law.

The session proved rather enlightening for Harry, as several citizens came before him to ask that he reverse the rulings of the ministry stewards. Apparently, one attempting to blackmail a servant into being his bed slave was not the only such incident in recent memory. He met the girl in question, as she asked that her marriage be recognised and they not be sentenced for it. Having already heard the story, he swiftly ruled against the Steward.

"The previous Steward's actions against you are nothing short of criminal," he informed her, "The next time he sets foot on Azkaban, he will be dealt with. Severely."

"Thank you, My Lord." she almost whispered her gratitude, "All Hail the Lord Azkaban! Long May he Rule!"

Others times Harry had to rely on Sable's advice, as well as Hermione's more general knowledge, to unravel the case before him. Nobody noticed their telepathic advice, but to Harry it was invaluable. Part of him wished he didn't have to do this, wished that he could pass off the duty to someone better qualified, even realised that he could probably get away with it if he tried. He still felt that he had a duty to these people, however – whilst they may forgive him if he chose to abandon them, he couldn't force himself to do it. So he sat through an hour and a half of petitions, righting the wrongs of the stewards.

. . .

"So that happens every Week?" Harry asked Sable as they rode into town later.

"I can not say, My Lord." Sable frowned, "It has been too long since we have had a Lord that honoured the tradition. I would suspect that most such sessions would be considerably less busy."

"Could you please let the people know that they do not have to wait for a public session to bring their cases to me." Harry sighed, "I can not always be free, but if they need to raise an issue I don't want them having to wait all week for what may be an urgent matter."

"Thank you, my Lord. I shall do so." Sable rose and knelt by the steps, allowing Harry to exit the coach and take in the building.

"Azkaban School for the Magically Worthless?" he read from the sign.

"A joke on the part of your previous Steward, My Lord" Sable explained, still kneeling.

"I'm not laughing," Harry spoke tightly, "Get rid of it, and have a proper sign replace it."

"It will be done, My Lord."

Harry swept forward, trying to ignore the sign as he entered the ancient hall. A narrow walkway wrapped around the outside of the building, sheltered by the overhang of the upper story. Sable opened the broad door and followed her Lord through to meet the headmistress.

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban!" she greeted them, "Long may he Rule!"

"Headmistress Ribbeck," Harry greeted her.

"May I presume you have come to judge the tournament?" she asked.

"Tournament?" Harry asked.

"We are hosting a series of Little War tournaments over the summer." she explained, "One of them is today."

"I am afraid that I am not familiar with 'Little War'," Harry admitted, "You would find me a poor judge. I actually came to inquire about lessons."

"Lessons, My Lord?"

"My researcher and I where forced to cut our education short after our OWLs," Harry explained, "I was informed that you may be able to assist in rectifying that issue."

"I am afraid that we do not practice wand work here, my Lord." She replied with a slight frown, "though our Potions and Herbology courses are integrated and considered second to none. Runes and Arithmancy courses are compulsory, though Astronomy can be difficult given the fogs. We also teach basic muggle courses and Magical Theory, as well as some forms of magic that have fallen out of use."

"An excellent basis, I assure you." Harry informed her, "I was not expecting you to be able to cover everything, and I can find other tutors for Wand Work. If you don't mind me asking, which muggle courses do you cover."

"Reading, Writing and Arithmetic." she replied, "I wanted to add a basic Science curriculum..."

"But the Stewards wouldn't let you." Harry finished, "Why don't you show me this tournament, and we can discuss options. Can you look into hiring a muggle Science Tutor or do you need help?"

. . .

Little War proved to involve little model wizards running around a little model battlefield, fighting for victory under the command of the players. Harry spotted the Commander of his Guard watching the tournament, correctly guessing that she was here to judge the event. He drifted over to exchange a few words, asking about the game and whether it was used to teach tactics. It was, she claimed, used for learning tactics – teaching requiring a little more.

Most of the time he spent with Headmistress Ribbeck. She already had contacts in the muggle teaching community who could locate science tutors with some knowledge of the magical world, though she thanked her Lord for his offer of assistance, so most of the time she spent describing the magical arts they taught. Much of the magic he was familiar with, such as potions, was what she termed 'Passive Magic' which merely required a magical presence to work. This was directly opposed to wand-work, which was what she called 'Active Magic', as it required the expenditure of magical power. She also spoke at length on what she referred to as 'Semi-active Magic', forms of passive magic designed to interact with active magic.

"So, you're saying that the magic of potions comes entirely from their ingredients?" Harry inquired as they stood at the back of the hall, "A muggle could use it?"

"Muggles can _use_ potions, yes, My Lord." the Headmistress replied, "But they can not _make_ them. Whilst the magical power of the potion lies entirely in the ingredients, it requires a magical presence to act as a 'Catalyst', I believe it is, and spark that magic to life. A squib has a magical presence, and is thus able to do passive magic and observe things that are blocked from muggle eyes, but no magical power, hence their inability to cast spells."

"I think that I understand," Harry mused, "Does the magical presence have to be the potion maker, though? Could you enchant a cauldron, perhaps, to provide the magical presence and allow the creation of potions by muggles crafters?"

"I… I do not know, My Lord." Headmistress Ribbeck swallowed before continuing, "I do not believe anyone has ever tried before, especially since the Statute of Secrecy started keeping the magical world separated from the Muggle World."

"The Commander of the Guard is preparing to induct muggles into my forces, and hence our world." Harry explained to her, "I thought it might me nice if they could participate in at least a little of the magic."

"In times past the Lord of Azkaban has used a magical ritual to bind muggles to his service as squibs," Sable interjected, "That may prove more satisfactory than enchanting a better cauldron."

"Look into it." he instructed her, before turning back to Ribbeck, "Though I am not sure that I quite understood your explanation of 'semi-active magic'. Is there some way you could demonstrate for me?"

"The models are an example," she explained, gesturing to the tournament, "The tables are charged before use, and power the models' actions. The models themselves are slowly built up of papier-mache layers over a wire and wood skeleton – individual strips of papyrus are soaked in a special potion and wrapped around the skeleton to dry. Between the runes inscribed on the wood and the potion soaking the model they acquire a rudimentary awareness, but lack energy and direction. The table provides the energy, in the form of animation, whilst the players provide them direction. Most of the models you see in place here are being directed by their creators – they tend to bond, somewhat."

"I see." Harry frowned, taking it in.

"I could also show you the Amulet Racks in one of our Ward Archives," she offered.

"You use semi-active wards?" Harry asked, surprised.

"For the most part," she agreed, "The island itself boasts some highly impressive defences, si it was always felt that lavishing too much on a school was unnecessary. Regardless, each year we hold a competition amongst the school children to craft a protective amulet for the school. The winner gets to place the successful entries in the Racks."

"Show me," Harry commanded, following the Headmistress as she obeyed.

. . .

Headmistress Ribbeck lead her Lord to her office before opening a deeper chamber with a simple key. The room beyond looked almost like a library, save that instead of shelves of books there were racks of loose parchment. Most of them where about A5 in size, and decorated on one side in a deliberate hand. Harry did not stop to read what was written on these amulets, drifting amongst the racks that had obviously been in use for centuries – the room was huge!

"We use parchment amulets, for the most part, My Lord." Headmistress Ribbeck was explaining as he looked around, "As they burn out after a single use it is generally deemed inefficient to use a more hard-wearing material. Some of our amulets are made in papyrus, but that rots after a few centuries in our climate. Excellent for prototypes and experimentation, acceptable for personal protection, but not as good here."

"Why must the amulet burn out after a single use?" Harry asked, "Could they not be designed as multi-use?"

"Each amulet is formed of a sheet of parchment with words inked upon it using a magical ink. We teach the creation of these magical inks in potions and, just like more conventional potions, the power is in the liquid. The inks are merely meant to be written with rather than drunk. As the power is in the ink itself, it is consumed when the power is used, which in turn destroys the amulet. The destruction of the amulet lets us know that it has been used, which is why they are all indexed carefully. Multi-use amulet's are possible, but much more complicated, and tend to have their own limitations. Some of these amulets will provide protection for a considerable period, for example, but that period begins as soon as they are activated and lasts until they burn out. There is no way to reset them once they start."

"So, how do they work?"

"Each amulet provides a different protection, depending on the materials, words and runes used." Ribbeck explained, "When they are touched by magic that matches that criteria, they activate."

"Two obvious issues with that explanation," Harry frowned, "How do you prevent multiple amulets from triggering simultaneously during the a single attack, and how can they be touched by attacking magic if they are buried in the centre of the school?"

"To the first issue, that is a large part of why we use the Racks my Lord," the Headmistress explained, "They regulate the function of the amulets. The nature of the amulets also makes it unlikely that any single attack would trigger all simultaneously, but that theory is highly complicated and the racks assure it. As to the second," she sighed, "That is a significant weakness of the system. If an attacker where to, for example, attempt to use a reductor curse to vaporise the front door, the magic would never touch these amulets and so they would not activate."

"I hope that there are other defences on the main doors." Harry told her.

"Of course, but not here. If our hypothetical attacker were to use a flame charm against the building with the intent of burning the entire thing to the ground, the spell would saturate the entire building even if the initial flame created was quite small. Saturating the entire building would naturally touch our archive here. There are smaller archives in other sections of the building to ward against incidents that might only saturate a small area – though those mostly ward against magical accidents in schoolwork. The school hasn't had to ward off an actual attack for centuries."

"Interesting," Harry mused, thinking that it had been a mistake to leave Hermione researching her latest project in the library – she would have loved this, "Do we have an amulet rack back at the castle, Sable?"

"No, my Lord," she replied, confused, "We have some excellent wards in place over the Island, and most especially the Lord's Castle, though none of this nature."

"Have one added to the castle, and another to the main library," Harry decided, "The winner of the yearly contest can add their amulet to the castle's defences, the runner up to the library. Make a new tradition to remember me by."

"We would be honoured, My Lord," Headmistress Ribbeck agreed as she knelt before him, "Though I am unsure what use our amulets will be compared to your current Wards."

"Perhaps none," Harry shrugged, "But unless they disrupt the current wards I am not going to turn them away. If nothing else, let it symbolise that no magic is to meagre to be worth a Lord's attention."

"A bold statement, My Lord," Sable answered, "I see to it as soon as we return. Do you have any preference as to the deployment of the rack?"

"Leave that to the experts," Harry replied, "Though we may want to display the latest addition publicly, at the very least."

"I will see what can be done,"

"That being said, can we proceed with those planned lessons from Monday?" Harry asked the Headmistress.

"Of course, My Lord." she replied, "We shall meet you in the castle at four."

. . .

Unfortunately for Harry, he had no time to linger. Taking his leave of Headmistress Ribbeck, Harry lingered in the halls for only a moment, watching as a few of the Little Wars reached their conclusion before proceeding out. He had an appointment with the Island Wandmaker before lunch, with both magical and muggle combat practise immediately after.

The Wandmaker lived in a cosy cottage a short distance from town, a bountiful Herb Garden at the front and a sweeping grove of eclectic trees behind. The area was saturated in climate charms to support the various plants in Azkaban's otherwise unforgiving climate. Some of the plants on display looked downright tropical to Harry as he stepped up the path. Sable knocked as he approached the door.

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban!" cried the balding man who answered the door, "Long may he rule!"

"Shelly Almsman, I presume?" Harry politely inquired.

"At your service, My Lord!" he replied, "Do you require a wand? Perhaps a singlestick?"

"I am not sufficiently comfortable with singlesticks to try casting with one yet," Harry replied as the man let him in to what was obviously a public sitting room, "Though it would be good to have one of my own by the time I am ready. I would like you to have a look at my current wand, however."

"Holly and Phoenix feather," the man murmured as he ran his hands over the wand, his eyes distant, "Very fine work, though perhaps a touch pedestrian. I could craft a wand that would be born for you, if you prefer. A touch more refined than this, though you have clearly bonded well."

"A touch more refined?" Harry echoed.

"You should find your magic more precise and controllable, especially now that you have come into your magic. I would also likely be using different materials, so the wand would likely favour different magics, though for everyday use the difference would likely be minimal, if not negligible."

"In a life or death encounter, however, even the tiniest fraction of an advantage can prove essential." Harry countered.

"Which is why I often craft such wands for many of the ministries Aurors and Hit Wizards," Shelly agreed, "Though most retain their original wand as a backup."

"You provide the ministry with Wand crafting expertise?"

"Not directly, my Lord."

"Though the prison and Island is yours, my Lord," Sable explained, "Under Treaty the Ministry is still obligated to contribute to the prison guard, most especially for the purpose of escorting prisoners to the island. Your forces are banned from operating on the mainland, save as your bodyguards, meaning we can not collect prisoners until they reach Azkaban. As a positive side effect, almost every member of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement passes though Azkaban at some point, and they are effectively your subjects while they are assigned here. Few enjoy the prison, though many settle in the town. I am reliably informed that more retired Aurors live on Azkaban than anywhere else in Britain."

"Interesting," Harry mused, "So the DMLE is made predominately of Azkaban Citizenry?"

"Citizens of Azkaban can not operate away from Azkaban." Sable reiterated, "As such, no serving Auror is actually a citizen of yours. Most of them consider that little more than a technicality, however, and the people of Azkaban welcome them as one of our own when they are here."

"Take your time with the wands, then," Harry asked Shelly, reclaiming his Holly wand and passing another over, "I'll take every edge I can get, but I would also like you to take a look at my spare wand."

The old man took Harry's muffled wand and turned it over in his hands a few times, a perplexed look growing on his face as he did so.

"My Lord," he finally exclaimed, "Where did you get this wand? It clearly has power, yet I can not sense either the wood or core with any clarity. They are there, of that I have no doubt, but the readings I am getting are confusing to say the least."

"It is an inherently muffled wand I purchased in Knockturn Alley," Harry informed the man, "The maker informed me that she crafted it from fragments of several broken wands, and that the conflicting magical signatures effectively muffle spells cast from it. The aurors might find that useful, but I wanted to ask if you could craft a singlestick in this fashion?"

"I doubt it," he replied, glaring at the wand as if it had personally offended him, "Using more than one piece of wood weakens the weapon, it'd rupture as soon as you used it."

"Standard versions would still be useful to the Aurors, I would imagine." Harry sighed as he took his wand back.

"Why, my Lord?" Shelly inquired, "What does this muffling actually do?"

"It confuses the magical signature, making it harder to detect or understand," Harry replied, "From what I understand, trying to unravel the makeup of a spell cast by this is no easier than to unravel the makeup of the wand itself. Muffled spells are also a lot harder to detect, allowing users to cast at least some spells without fear of setting off alarms and wards. I managed to test that before I came here, at least."

"That does sound like something the Aurors would be interested in," he admitted, "Though I don't understand how this can even work. Would you be able to put me in touch with the crafter?"

"She runs a stall in Knockturn Alley, most evenings, I believe." Harry went silent for a moment as he conferred with Hermione before continuing, "Her name is Mary Frankenstein."

Shelly Almsman gasped in shock, a mixture of hope and terror flooding his face.


	9. Walking With Ravens

Walking with Ravens

"He seemed to know her?" Hermione asked when Harry recalled the incident at dinner.

"Based on his reaction to the name," Sable commented, "I would believe so."

"He was not particularly coherent after that came out," Harry added, "So I marked the crystal and left. Speaking of which, you need to do one as well."

"Why, master?"

"Because I want him to make you a new wand" Harry explained, "Muffled, if he can get in touch with Mrs Frankenstein. A high quality, barely detectable wand in the hands of a witch of your calibre will be a potent asset in this war of mine."

"It was my war too," Hermione replied with a blush, "And Voldemort made it everyone's war. Now that you own me, my fight is your fight regardless, but I am happy with that."

"Really, Hermione?"

"I wanted to fight by your side, master." Hermione admitted, "This just gives me an excuse."

"You should spend more time in combat practice then," Harry asserted, "I can not waste a valuable researcher in a random skirmish either."

"This is our war," Hermione whispered, "Let us do what we can, master, please."

"The school is sending tutors tomorrow." Harry remarked, "Keep your afternoon schedule clear, after a full set of combat instructions we start on Passive Magic."

"Passive magic?"

As Harry had earlier suspected, Hermione's curiosity was piqued. Harry spent the remainder of the meal recalling Headmistress Ribbeck's lecture on magical types.

. . .

Monday was, in it's way, as special as Sunday on Azkaban. Whilst the council met with their lord in the Audience chamber as they usually did; before that, however, Harry, Hermione and Sable travelled to the temple. Most of the citizens would gather there at the beginning of the week, he was told, where it was traditional for the Lord to preside over a short dawn ceremony to bestow his blessings on the people for that week. The Stewards, naturally, had never even entered the building.

"I wonder if they have any idea what they missed," Harry mused as his coach pulled up to the magnificent building.

The temple rose above him in a sweeping spiral of gleaming white marble. A short walk removed from the drab décor of the town, it none the less stood out like a sore thumb, a clear landmark even when the dismal fogs wrapped around the spire. The base of that spire swept outwards to rest on five broad pillars of ebon beauty that rose from the cliff as if they had grown there. Strings of glittering black beads hung from the spire in lines that linked each pillar in a five-pointed star – a design that Sable called a pentagram. The bead curtains shifted in the gentle breeze, tinkling softly in the background.

Passing through the curtain Harry noticed that the beads themselves seemed to gentley radiate power, something which Sable confirmed. Each bead was individually enchanted, though none where useful alone. Combined, the subtle resonance of the many beads made this temple an intensely magical place and the spells woven into the curtains aided many of the rituals performed here. The central space was in the shape of a common pentagon, with uninterrupted bead curtains on every edge. At the very centre, below the peak of the soaring spire (looking up, Harry could see that it was hollow) an elaborately carved fountain was set into the floor. Crystal clear water soared from the twisted spire in many jets, falling into the pool. Seven channels carved into the stone floor flowed in a constant spiral from the pool to beyond the curtain, keeping it from overflowing.

Most of Azkaban's citizens had already gathered in the central area around the fountain, congregating in small groups and falling silent as Harry entered. The Ritual Master was waiting for them, standing next to the fountain and almost panting with anxiety. Sable stood with Hermione off to one side as Harry shared a few words with the man. After confirming the structure of the ceremony he stood back and waited for first light.

He did not have long to wait. As the first rays of Dawn filled the hollow spire and bathed the fountain he could feel the ancient magics of his temple stirring to life. Buoyed by the unexpected warmth Harry spoke:

"People..."

"All hail my Lord Caer Azkaban!" they replied with one voice, "Long may he rule!"

"Who brings the temple's potions this week?" he inquired to some confusion.

The potions were part of a practice that had replaced the Lord's blessing after the stewards had refused to take part, though Harry suspected that the ritual was much older, given the enchantments on the fountain. He had also decided to retain this particular tradition. Thirteen individuals stepped forward, tiny vials clenched in their hands which they presented to Harry. He accepted each with murmured thanks, adding their contents to the fountain. Each time the waters flashed as the potions were fed up through the fountain and washed through the pool. By the time he had finished the waters were a gentle glimmering silver. Waiting the prescribed 13 seconds to allow the potions to saturate the pool, he filled a shot glass and raised it to his audience.

"The Lord Azkaban drinks her health." he announced, downing the surprisingly mild potion.

Standing aside he watched the steady stream of citizens approach the pool and fill their own small glasses, most of them choosing to drink to his health. It brought a smile to his lips to hear that – the potions did not care what they said, after all, they affected the drinker. Once they were done, Harry stepped back into the early dawn light to continue the ceremony. Not having any announcements he felt a need to share with his people (that their lord had returned and freed them from the stewards was pretty much redundant by now) he proceeded strait to the close.

"The blessings of Azkaban upon be her people," he recited, feeling the magics of the temple stir in response, "May you serve me well."

The small circle of dawn light expanded as the ancient magic took hold, spreading to cover the entire area. All those touched by it felt the warmth blossom in their chests, a slight smile of contentment on their lips. Harry stood by the fountain as they bowed and departed through the curtain to leave him alone with Hermione, Sable, and the Ritual Master.

"My Lord," he bowed as the last echoing declaration of loyalty faded, "I have made progress on the tasks that you have set me. For the Horcrux cleansing ritual I need only instruct the Dementors on their part. Your Warden assures me that enough Dementors remained loyal, though their participation would strip the prison bare of their influence."

"We will have to risk it," Harry decided, "The sooner this gets done the better. What of the Hrafnsmál?"

"Ready as we speak, I need only a decision from you." he admitted, "There are two slight variations on the ritual, one which will infuse the power of the Hrafnsmál into your bloodline, and one which will affect only you. Which would you take?"

"The former," Harry asserted, "Infuse the power into my bloodline."

"Excellent, My Lord." the man smiled, "This is a simple ritual which will take thirteen days to complete."

"Thirteen?" Harry mused, "Is that not a little long?"

"Not at all, my Lord." he insisted, "The ministry mandated ritual for becoming an animagus lasts a full lunar month – at a minimum. 13 days for a power your bloodline will inherit is a trifle by comparison. Nor, contrary to ministry propaganda, is it Evil."

"The ministry has mandated that the power of Hrafnsmál is evil?" Harry wondered, "Why?"

"Not precisely, my Lord. It employs the number 13, which the ministry has deemed Dark Magic, and by extension, Evil." he explained, "The Lord of Azkaban, however, has blanket permission from the ministry to employ such magic."

"The Lord Caer Azkaban has, by long tradition, always been a Dark Wizard and a Light Lord." Sable added, "We of Azkaban have long employed arts that have been, rightly or wrongly, designated Dark. Thirteen holds considerable power, arithmetically, but as a large prime it can prove difficult to control. Rather than regulate it's usage, the ministry outlawed it entirely."

"I thought seven was the most powerful number?" Hermione asked.

"Amongst those allowed by the ministry, yes." Sable agreed, "It is both powerful and stable, being well within the capacity of the average wizard to manage. Thirteen is both more powerful and less stable, being beyond the capacity of what the ministry considers an 'average' wizard to comfortably manage."

"Not Dark, then, but Black." Harry muttered.

"My Lord?"

"Black is as Dark as is needed, no more, no less, but never Dark for it's own sake." he explained.

"An adequate summary of Azkaban's stance, my Lord." Sable agreed, "Though I should stress that a number of magics have been designated 'Dark' by the ministry for convenience when outlawing them, despite the magic in question having nothing that fits that definition or otherwise being illegal."

"That does not surprise me," Harry sighed, "So what does this ritual of Hrafnsmál involve?"

"Thirteen potions spread over thirteen days," the Ritual Master explained, "Each accompanied by the casting of a small spell. On the first day, as you swallow the potion or immediately thereafter, touch your wand to your tongue and speak the incantation Hrafnsmál. For the following day you will find yourself able to speak in the Ravens' tongue, should you wish, and it is imperative that you practice! You will not be able to understand their replies, however it is customary to walk amongst the Raven's flock to introduce yourself, and advise them what is to come. The second day is much the same, though you touch the wand to your ear rather than your tongue, and you will find yourself able to understand Raven rather than to speak it. Continue alternating tongue and ear until the final dose. As you swallow the thirteenth dose and speak the incantation, touch the tip of your wand to your chest, to bind and unite the powers of voice and and hearing within the core of your being, and the heart which pumps the blood which will flow through the veins of your heirs."

"Thank you." Harry replied, sure that both his girls had memorised the instructions, "When would be the best time to begin?"

"I would suggest Noon as a magically significant time." he suggested, "It is also easier to remember to keep the following doses timed."

Harry agreed and asked Hermione to take charge of the case of potion vials before taking his leave of the temple. Together with Hermione and Sable, they rode the coach back to the castle and the meeting with the council.

. . .

Despite his delay, the meeting went quickly. The commander of the guard reported that Luna had arrived that morning on the ferry and, per Harry's instructions, had been sent to the Psychiatrist for a full check up. Harry sent Sable to collect her in his coach, keeping her updated on the rest of the council through the rings. The Warden of the Prison reported that the first of the rogue Dementors had returned, so the prison would not be deprived of their influence whilst the few remaining loyal powered the ritual to destroy the Horcrux that afternoon. He promised to think of a suitable punishment for their misbehaviour for his Lord's consideration.

With nothing else of note to add, the council concluded and Harry retired to a small, sunlit balcony with a clear view of the town and the distant temple spire. Hermione laid a small table for morning tea before he banished her to the library. She had almost finished compiling her report on the various titles he had inherited, and he did not want her presence to distract Luna. The coming meeting would be troubling enough as it stood.

. . .

"My Lord Caer Azkaban," Sable announced his visitor a short time later, "Miss Luna Lovegood."

"I don't like that yucky potion your psycho made me drink," Luna jumped into the conversation as soon as she was introduced, "It makes me feel all dull in the head."

"An unfortunate necessity, Miss Lovegood." Harry informed her smoothly, attempting to echo Sable's polished airs, "It suppresses a number of compulsion charms that were affecting you, allowing me to speak with the 'Real Luna', so to speak."

"Well I don't have to like it," She grumbled as she flounced into the indicated chair, "I was happier hunting in Sweden."

"And yet here you are..."

"I'm on a Harry Hunt," she admitted, "Dumbledore's got everyone looking for him – I'm surprised it hasn't reached the Prophet yet."

"Why come here on your Harry Hunt?" he asked, coldly.

"I feel I've got a better chance here than Sweden," she smiled, "I need to find him and… and not tell Dumbledore?"

Harry sipped his tea and watched the expressions on her face as it twisted in confusion for a few minutes.

"I need to not tell him where he is..." she murmured, "The longer Professor Whiskers knows less, the better for us, for Harry… Why?"

"Did it never occur to you to ask why he left?" Harry pressed, "Or why he is being hunted?"

"He is the boy who lived," she shrugged, "I assumed that it was part of that fame he is always going on about hating."

"So who's side do you want to be on?" Harry asked her, "If Dumbledore is intent on setting himself against Harry, where will you stand?"

"With Harry, of course." she told him as if it were as obvious as the need to breathe, "I thought I made that clear when I joined the ministry six. He's my friend, a true friend, I can't afford to discard that… No matter what Dumbledore might say."

"Very well, Miss Lovegood," Harry agreed, noting the determined glint under the moisture in her eye, "I have called you here to offer you a post. The Seer of Azkaban has nominated you as his successor, and wishes to apprentice you immediately. The Psychiatrist also wishes to use you as a practice subject, to unravel the compulsions infesting your mind until you no longer need the potion to truly be yourself. What say you?"

"Will I be able to help Harry?" she asked.

"I believe so," Harry replied, "And if you come to feel otherwise, you are free to depart. Provided only that the decision is truly yours. Take this time to think on it, and let me know before you leave."

"Thank you, my Lord." Luna murmured, eyes distant, as Harry took his leave.

. . .

"So, step one of the Hrafnsmál ritual is to drink this and talk at the Ravens," Harry repeated to himself, looking at the blood red potion in his hands.

"Don't forget the incantation, master," Hermione added, "Noon is nearly upon us,"

"Our first noon," Sable interjected, "Solar noon is still an hour away."

"I hope this will suffice for this," Harry sighed, sliding his wand into his grip as he downed the vial of liquid, "Hrafnsmál!"

He could feel the magic taking effect, the potion flooding his system from within and the spell spiking it from without, drawing it up into his tongue. For several seconds he shivered as the magic shuddered through his body, but when the magic grew quiescent he turned to the Ravens of his aerie and attempted to introduce himself:

"Greetings, Ravens," he cawed, "I am Harry."

This prompted a storm of calls from the unkindness gathered about them as Harry tried desperately to talk over them, until a single loud caw silenced them all. A large old bird, clearly an alpha amongst Ravens, looked imperiously at the flock before nodding at Harry to continue. Grateful for the quiet, Harry thanked the Raven and told the flock about the ritual he was undertaking, warning them that he could not understand anything they were cawing (adding that tomorrow he would understand but be unable to respond in kind).

He then spent nearly half an hour describing his life. He was unsure why he ended up on that topic, but after introducing himself the words seemed to flow out of him. One by one, the ravens left their perches to huddle nearby, offering the boy what little comfort their wings could. Harry was absent-mindedly stroking the Alpha and describing the Dursley's beliefs when Sable reminded him that he had another ritual to attend.

"Sorry to cut things short, but I have duties to attend to," Harry's throat was somewhat coarse from the cawing, but he was still polite, "I'll return tomorrow when I'll be able to hear what you have to say, alright?"

The Unkindness of Ravens nodded, cawed, and took wing one by one, circling Harry Potter before sweeping out of the aerie in a black cloud. Soon there was not so much as a single black plume remaining of the ravens' presence, but Harry felt sure that they were watching.

Strangely, the feeling was almost comfortable.


	10. Dementors and Soul Shards

Dementors and Soul Shards

The three of them travelled back to the temple in the Lord's carriage, allowing them the opportunity to eat a small lunch as they did so. Nerves were high, and conversation sparse, as they once more approached the glimmering white spire. The Ritual Master was waiting to greet them as they stepped out to join the ritual, as was the Commander of the Guard.

"All hail the Lord Caer Azkaban," they chanted, "Long may he rule!"

"Are we ready to get this done?" he asked them.

"As soon as the sun reaches it's peak." he was assured.

Harry nodded his understanding before summoning Kreacher with the pendant. Now that they knew they would be destroying a fraction of Voldemort's shattered soul they were all the more eager to see it done. The small band walked through the beaded curtain and down a spiral staircase set into the base of one of the pillars. Veins of the pillar's black stone followed them down through the rock of the clifftop, wrapping around the descending stairs in an elegant cage as rock gave way to air. Stepping out from the cage of root-like stone, Harry noted that trickles of water, still faintly silver from the morning ceremony, flowed from the 'roots' along channels in the floor. Two spread to the side, encircling the room together with the water trickling the other staircases. One flowed inwards, to the centre, were it joined the other four in a pool barely seven inches across.

The noon sun shone through the fountain pool set into the floor above, illuminating the room with a natural light that left the edge deep in shadow. Despite the concealing shadows, Harry could still see the nine Dementors that lingered there. Their familiar rattling breaths seemed quieter than he was used to, and there was a distinct lack of the chill that seemed to follow such creatures. The others, though, were affected more as he would expect, and the Ritual Master quickly conjured a shield patronus for their sake.

"The ritual is quite simple, in principle." he told them, "The chants and runes serve to channel the Dementors' Kiss against the Horcrux, pulling the Soul Shard free of it's casing. Obviously, we do not want one of the Dementors to consume the shard – that would transform the Dementor into a Horcrux – that is why we have nine Dementors working together. The combined force of their power should balance out, leaving the shard temporarily exposed. Finally, it must be banished by means of the Killing Curse before any of the Dementors consume it."

"I thought you said that having the Dementors working together prevented them from consuming the shard?" Hermione queried.

"That only delays the inevitable," he replied, "It buys us time, nothing more. If the Dementors were to release the pressure before the shard was either consumed or banished, it would seek out the nearest living creature to latch onto instead. Better to kill it outright."

"Damn!" the Commander muttered, "I hadn't noticed, but the locket has a parselock. As long as it remains closed, it will be difficult to extract the shard."

"May I?" Harry inquired, taking the locket from his Commander's hand.

The locket possessed a distinctly Slytherin aesthetic, he noted. Right down to the serpentine 'S' on the front. Focusing on that snake, he twitched the locket in his hand and hissed at it to open. It reacted immediately, snapping open to reveal a hateful red eye. As the eye glared at him, Harry felt it's alien presence in his mind, feeding his wrath. The silence after he snapped it closed was deafening.

"I don't think it wants to be destroyed," he commented, "Perhaps we should open it at the last possible moment?"

"If you could, My Lord..." his Commander hesitantly asked, "We are not sheltered from Azkaban's denizens as her Lord is."

"Of Course," Harry nodded his agreement, "Are we ready to begin?"

"At once, My Lord." the Ritual Master agreed, "Just place the locket in the small pool as it opens, and stand back. We shall do the rest."

Turning, Harry proceeded to carry out the suggestion. Reaching the small pool, filled by the five tiny streams, he knelt down and hissed the Command to open the locket. Once again the locket snapped open, once again that familiar red eye pinned him with it's hideous glare. All around him an ancient chant continued, but Harry was barely aware of it. The Dementors' rattling breaths grew stronger, a chill mist sweeping towards him, but he paid it no mind. Leaving the locket in the tiny pool he stepped back, only to collapse in pain.

His scar bled with the force of his agony as he struggled to his feet. The chant continued, as did the Dementors' efforts, but the haze of pain that drew over his eyes drew his attention instead. The bloody eye was being drawn from the locket as blood dripped down his own face. He staggered away, step by tiny step, his bleeding head still turned toward the centre.

He was barely aware as the ritual reached it's climax. An almighty scream from the locket barely pierced his consciousness as a similar scream erupted from his own skull and a faint black shade burst free in a spurt of crimson. Harry collapsed for the final time, sinking into unconsciousness. As his vision faded to a twin flash of green he heard the deadly curse sounding strange on familiar lips:

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

. . .

He woke to fading daylight and soft covers, a warm body wrapped round his. Harry stirred with a groan, slowly pushing his horrendous headache aside to focus on his surroundings. Above him was the canopy of Lord's bed, which was slowly becoming familiar to him after the last few mornings. The fading light indicated that it was too late to be morning, though.

Relaxing into the mattress with another groan, Harry cast his mind back. Memories of the Dementor fuelled ritual bubbled to the surface of his mind, and he shuddered. The protections of Azkaban had not prevented him from feeling the piercing agony the moment the Dementors had begun their efforts. His soul still seemed to belong to him, however, although his body felt thoroughly bruised. His brief shudder also seemed to have disturbed the body beside him.

Wait, what?

Harry's mental processes seemed to freeze for a moment before he slowly turned his head to stare directly into the chill blue eyes beside him. Sable stared back, unconcerned for her position though worry coloured her tone.

"My Lord, how are you feeling?"

"I've had worse," he replied, which was perfectly true, "Sable, why are you here?"

"Where else would you expect to find the Lord's mistress but her Lord's bed?" she inquired, "I have no other duties to attend to at this time, if that is what worries you.

"Hermione?" Harry thought with a quiet moan.

"Master!" she replied through the rings immediately, delight evident in her tone, "You're awake!"

"Yes, Hermione," he thought in reply, "And now Sable is telling me she's supposed to be my mistress...What is that?"

"Oh, Harry." he thought that he detected a hint of amusement in her thoughts before obedient subservience took over, "Traditionally, Lords married for political reasons which often led to loveless marriages. A mistress is tasked with supplying her Lord with affection, if not genuine then at least physical."

"Fuck." Harry thought wearily.

"To put it bluntly, master." Hermione replied as Harry groaned aloud.

"And how can I persuade her that I neither need nor want this?" he managed.

"Unlikely," she replied, "You can order her away, but you are human. Whether you accept it or not, you do need affection. Sable would just think that you are objecting to her personally, and probably offer to find a replacement."

"Are you well, My Lord?" Sable interrupted, worried by Harry's obvious distress.

"When is it?" her replied, ignoring the question, "And what happened whilst I was out?"

"It is still Monday," Sable assured him, "You were only unconscious for a few hours. Your healer and the Commander of your Guard both gave you a thorough examination after you collapsed. Your Commander apologises for missing the Horcrux in your scar during her initial examination."

"It was a rushed, cursory examination," Harry reminded her, "That it missed things was only to be expected, and the fault for that is mine. I'm the one who ordered her to do it like that."

"Very well, My Lord," Sable replied, "I shall tell her you said so. Both your Healer and the Commander got some strange readings from their spells that they would like to examine in more detail before committing themselves. That said, they did discover several binds and taps that had been placed on your magic. They want to proceed to release them as soon as you are ready, but also think that some of the damage may be permanent. The physical damage to your body can be compensated for – you have potions to take every morning for a week."

"Is there any way to find out who put those spells on me?"

"Yes, My Lord. We can take them off, and see if anyone complains. If nobody notices, then we can check the magical signature and compare it to individual suspects one by one."

"No way to trace the spell directly to the source then?"

"Not that I'm aware of, My Lord." Sable apologised.

"What happened with afternoon lessons?"

"The Commander cancelled to run her scans, and the Headmistress was here earlier." Sable replied, "She met with Hermione for something."

"Hermione? What did Headmistress Ribbeck want?"

"She left a test for the two of us to complete," she thought back at once, "So that she can start the lessons at the level we have already reached. I've finished mine, did you want your copy?"

"I'll come out for it," he assured her, reaching for the covers.

"Hermione said she left a test for me to complete so that we can get started on more appropriate lessons tomorrow." he explained as he climbed out of the bed, "I'd best make a start."

"You should rest, my Lord" a sky clad Sable objected as she helped him back into his Robe.

"I know from experience that I will feel much worse without something to distract me," he replied, "I won't be doing anything strenuous, Sable, but I need to do something."

With that, her strode into his private sitting room to find the test Hermione had left out for him.

. . .

Harry was still aching at breakfast the following day. He felt that he had done terribly at the test, but he had sent it off and hoped that the headmistress would not think too poorly of him. Hermione gently reminded him that he had not studied Arithmancy or Ancient runes at all, so it should come as no surprise to anyone if he did poorly on those sections, to say nothing of the semi-passive magics that were never even mentioned in the Hogwarts syllabus.

"I don't think either of us was meant to do very well at that test, master" she added, "Some of the questions were late NEWT level, so she probably just wanted to see how far ahead we had read."

"Well, we'll find out this afternoon." Harry sighed, dispirited, "What is on our schedule for today, Sable?"

"If you have the time, My Lord, your Healer and Commander have asked that you meet with them to remove the bindings and taps they discovered yesterday." Harry nodded, and Sable continued, "At noon, we have the next step in the Ritual of Hrafnsmál and the flock's chance to speak with you. This afternoon, you have training with weaponry, magical dulling, and tactics, followed by a session with a teacher from the squib school."

"I've finished my research into the families and titles you inherited, master." Hermione added, "I can give you the summary over dinner, or this evening."

"How about in the infirmary?" Harry suggested, "I am unlikely to have much to do except listen and wait."

"As you wish, master."

"Have you finished going through the stack of books I gave you last week?"

"Of course, master. I've read my notes on the things I think might be useful to you, and shelved the books in the Black library."

"Write up a neat set of your notes when you get the chance," he instructed, "We will both need a reference copy."

"Yes, master."

. . .

The council meeting was quite short that morning, despite the desperate apologies of his Commander, and the trio proceeded to meet with the Healer and Commander in a small room adjacent to the Infirmary. It was explained that procedures such as the one they were about to attempt could be quite violent, and that it was best to perform it in an isolated or contained location. Hermione and Sable were banished from the room for their own safety whilst the Healer performed a final check.

"My Lord," he said, "You have a strange magical energy imbued into your skin that disrupts most spells."

"I was told that it was my mother's loving sacrifice," Harry replied, "That saved me from Voldemort's curse."

"That does seem likely," he agreed, "At least partially. That combined with a few other factors appears to have granted you a mild spell resistance."

"I've been fed pickled Murtlap daily since I got here," Harry pointed out.

"That is only a temporary effect, what I' m seeing is permanent." The healer shook his head in amazement, "It appears that the Murtlap effect is exaggerating the ancient magic to grant you a perpetual resistance to minor spells. This is not an immunity, My Lord, most spells will work just fine with their effects so blunted, though exceptionally weak charms such as the ones corrupting Miss Lovegood's thoughts would dissipate before they could settle."

"Which would explain why the Psychiatrist did not find any on me."

"An astute assumption, My Lord." his Commander agreed, "Any spell subtle enough to go unnoticed would be weak enough to fail against you. Stronger charms would be more blatant in their effects, visible even to those who are not trained to detect magical tampering. Even then, your resistance would likely erode them over time, inevitably leading to their eventual failure."

"Why are these spells still in place, then?" Harry asked.

"If I am reading this correctly, My Lord," his Healer suggested, "The blocks and taps were placed before the protection in your skin. As a result, rather than being eroded by it, they are protected by it."

"We are going to have to bypass your resistance to remove these curses," the Commander agreed, "That will make this procedure more violent than is typically the case – hence our current isolation. We will let you know what we find as we break it."

. . .

A few hours later, Harry took to 'recovering' in his training room. The first tier of golem already proving too easy for him to best, he picked up a pair of rapiers and approached the second.

"Thanks for the lecture, Hermione," Harry told her as he began the fight with a lunge, "It really helped keep me focused amongst the explosions,"

"As you commanded, Master, I obey." she replied, "Though I am glad it proved helpful."

"That bastard has a lot to answer for," Harry growled, parrying the golem's riposte and returning one of his own.

"Who, Master?"

"Whoever cast those compulsions on you and Luna," Harry replied, settling into the flow of the duel and focusing on his opponent, "It's the same person who got both of you and me. The same magical signature – makes me wonder who else he got."

"I think that it was Dumbledore." Hermione suggested.

"What makes you say that?"

"Your resistance makes you immune to the subtle compulsions which made me spy for him – who else would compel me into doing that?" Hermione pointed out, "I think that when he realised he could not control you directly he looked for ways to control you through those around you."

"Like you." Harry realised, dropping his guard which allowing the golem to score a hit, "Ow!"

"I'm sorry, Master," Hermione contritely remarked as the golem resumed a guard stance, "I should not be distracting you."

"Actually, I need to learn to do this despite distractions," Harry reminded her as he started the next bout, "You're helping."

"Did you discover what the curses did, master?"

"There was one designed to constrict my magical core's growth," he replied, "To prevent me having much magical power. Another that would have disrupted wandless, silent and point casting by preventing my core from learning spells."

"That would also have made magic in general harder, master."

"Yes, because I was going off of my brain and the patterns recorded in my wand," Harry agreed, "There was also a block against developing innate powers, Metamorphagus, Parseltongue, that sort of thing. Even after they removed it, it is still to late for me to develop whatever natural talents my childhood would have thrown up."

"But you are a Parseltongue?"

"So is Voldemort, and I had a chunk of his soul jammed into my skull for years," Harry pointed out, "I doubt that I picked up that skill naturally. There was also a health block, that prevented my magical core from reinforcing my physical condition, leaving me frailer than most wizards, and two taps. One apparently fuelled a ward around a house in Godric's Hollow, though the ward has since died, and the other fuelled a Ward around the Dursley residence."

"Bastard." Hermione muttered in agreement as she watched Harry parry and riposte, "It's a wonder you survived with all that on you."

"Oh, the best part is that they were tied to my life." Harry added, "The moment I died, all evidence of the spells would have vanished, making it obvious that I had died in a sad accident that was not caused by any curses or blocks that may have been cast on me as a baby. He probably wanted me dead, but not to get his hands dirty."

Hermione shook her head in disgust. Dumbledore had a lot to answer for.


	11. The Palest Ink

The Palest Ink

A short time later, however, Hermione reminded him to take the potion that was the next stage in the Hrafnsmál ritual. With local noon fast approaching, Harry sent her to bring the potion to the rookery, before calling Sable on her ring and asking her to make preparations for lunch. At the stroke of twelve, Harry downed the potion left-handed, pointing his wand with right. A clear mutter of "Hrafnsmál." later he strode through the door to listen to his Ravens.

The Unkindness began yelling at him as soon as he entered. The racket was horrendous, the voices unintelligible, but fortunately the Alpha Raven was once again present. With one loud demand for silence he stilled the flock, letting him address Harry alone.

"Welcome again, Lord Human," he cawed at the boy, "If what you told us yesterday is true, you can understand us, but not reply in kind?"

Harry nodded in reply – he had noticed yesterday that the ravens seemed to understand and use that particular gesture.

"Then listen, Lord Human, and I will speak. I am Lord Raven, current Lord of this Unkindness you see around you. We still remember the tales of our ancestors, tales of humans who walked among us and spoke as equals. We are pleased that you have decided to follow in the wing flaps of those others. It has been to long that the Unkindness has been unable to truly serve Azkaban."

Harry spent a full hour in the rookery, listening to the Lord Raven telling the legends of his ancestors and their service to Azkaban, before Sable called him to lunch.

. . .

"So the Unkindness of Azkaban were traditionally her spies, as well as messengers?" Hermione asked when he recalled the conversation later.

"So they tell me," Harry agreed, "They were able to speak to the Lord of Azkaban, and so able to relate anything they saw when delivering their messages. More frequently, though, they would simply fly the length and breadth of the country and report on what they found."

"There are no records of such happenings in the archives of Azkaban, My Lord." Sable pointed out.

"It was probably one of those things you told me was never recorded, for security purposes." Harry replied, "Shared only with those who could be trusted and never shared. If the Ravens had not remembered, it would have been lost with the original Azkaban line."

"It makes sense, master," Hermione agreed, "They would not be very effective spies if everyone knew that they were."

"Lord Raven's description of some of their missions sounded more like scouts than spies, though." Harry mused, "Since the Lord Human could speak with them in turn, he could give them specific targets to scout out. It sounds like the allegiance of the Ravens was a critical factor in Azkaban's military successes, as well. Though that could just be Raven Propaganda."

"Unlikely, master." Hermione suggested, "As long as they can see and remain unseen, they would prove a valuable asset to any army."

"I am sure my Commander will agree." Harry replied with a wry smile, "For now, though, we keep that secret amongst the three of us."

"As you wish, My Lord," Sable acquiesced immediately, Hermione only a moment behind.

"This afternoon we study weapons, wand work, tactics, and whatever the good Headmistress has for us." Harry quickly changed the subject, "Hopefully the short notice was not problematic."

"I would have heard if it was," Sable replied, "She contacted me this morning to say that she would be conducting your early lessons herself."

"I shall look forward to it." Harry replied.

. . .

"When you said that you had completed your OWLs, I must admit I was expecting more," Headmistress Ribbeck informed him when she arrived later, "I've been checking with some of my contacts in mainland Britain, however, and found that educational standards have been declining for decades. Hermione's test results would be acceptable for one of my second year students; moving into third year for potions. My Lord, I understand that you studied neither Arithmancy nor Ancient Runes?"

"That is correct," Harry replied.

"You seem to understand the basic mathematics upon which Arithmancy is dependant, however." she replied, "You could complete an accelerated curriculum for the more magical applications. Other than your lack of knowledge in these two areas, your test scored similarly to Hermione. It may be quite some time before either of you two are at what Azkaban would consider 'OWL' level."

"Just teach us what you can," Harry asked, "Any deficiency in our prior education is not your fault."

"Thank you, My Lord." she handed them each a small book, "This is our ink book. For our first lesson, given that that you both have some experience with potions, we will be brewing an ink that should help you with your later studies. If you write something down in it, then wash the parchment clean and drink the run off, the knowledge so recorded will become a part of you such that you will never forget it. It helps a lot with mindless memorisation tasks, but less so with one's actual understanding."

"This would have helped a lot at Hogwarts these past few years," Hermione muttered, "Rote Memorisation is a big part of Ancient Runes, especially."

"Which is no doubt part of the reason standards are declining," Ribbeck guessed, "There are a couple of caveats to bear in mind, however. The words must be written in a clear hand using a clean quill, with the writer focusing as much on the meaning of the words as the words themselves. Being organic, the quill acts as a conduit for the magic of the ink, connecting the words as they are written to the writer's understanding of them. For this reason, the magic of the written words is highly personal, and it is usually best to drink only your own words. Attempting to absorb someone else's thoughts or understanding is often extremely confusing. This also means that there is no point using the ink to memorise something you do not understand, as you would merely remember your own lack of understanding. I would also caution against overuse, especially for memorising complex subjects. You will never be able to forget the words you drink, and there is no known antidote. Use with caution – in fact, we usually test this by having the students drink their own copy of the official safety guidelines. We rarely have problems after that."

"Because none of the students can forget the potion guidelines?" Harry guessed.

"Exactly," Headmistress Ribbeck smiled, "Please turn to page 13 for the recipe. When you have familiarised yourself with it, we shall begin"

. . .

The following day, there was a special visitor to the morning council session. The council reported that all was well on the island, with the Warden adding that they were mixing the rebellious Dementors into mortar for use in the rebuilding of the prison, fortifying the building with their horrific aura whilst depriving them of their freedom – freedom to betray Azkaban, to leave, or even twitch. Whilst he acknowledged that this would require additional manpower in the prison building, the Lord Caer Azkaban had already authorised that in response to their previous shortage.

"A most appropriate punishment, Chief Warden," Harry assured the nervous man, "Thank you. Is there anything further?"

"Actually, my Lord," he seemed to be getting even more nervous at the suggestion, "The Chief Dementor requests an audience with you."

"I take it that this is not a normal state of affairs?"

"No, My Lord." the Warden replied.

"Dementors have sought audience with the Lord Azkaban in the past," Sable whispered in the back of his mind, "Though this is not a common occurrence by any means. Azkaban herself will protect you, after all."

"Do you have any idea what this Dementor wants?" Harry inquired of the man.

"No, My Lord, I did not ask it what it wanted." he hesitantly replied, "It was quite insistent, however."

"How soon can we arrange this audience?"

"The Dementor is waiting outside," he replied.

"Send him in when you leave," Harry instructed, not wanting to expose his council to the Dementor's chilling aura, "Does anyone have anything further?"

Nobody did, so they all left and admitted the Dementor seeking audience. It drifted gracefully through the door, hovering a steady half inch above the floor. Once again the mist was conspicuous only by it's absence, as was the hideous rattling breaths Harry has associated with the Dementors in the past. Stopping in the centre of the room, the Dementor sank gently into a kneeling posture.

"All Hail My Lord Caer Azkaban," it rattled, "Long may he Rule!"

"What is it that you wish of me?" Harry asked.

"My Lord," it replied, it's hollow voice echoing in the confines of Harry's skull, "I wish to undertake the Rite of Ascension."

"I am afraid that I am unfamiliar with this Rite of Ascension." Harry commented, silently directing his girls to look it up, "Could you clarify the matter for me."

"Of course, My Lord." it replied, "The Rite of Ascension has been the focus of my life for some time now. A Dementor lives, at best, a hollow half life. We can only subsist on the misery of others, yet we must endure that same misery if it is to sate our needs. Everything that our victims endure, so must we, save that when they perish we must remain. Some choose to revel in suffering, growing addicted to the misery and seeking to spread it at all costs. Others, regrettably few in recent years, see it as a price for strength. Abstinence can not kill us, after all, only weaken us to the point we can no longer resist. We try to contain the desperate need to drain all we touch, to control our own insatiable hunger. Wrestling with our hunger is painful, My Lord, but so is enduring the suffering of everything in our presence. Those few who remained loyal to Azkaban did so because they find they prefer the former."

"I see," Harry nodded, for the Dementor's words did indeed make sense, "But how does that tie in to the Rite of Ascension?"

"It is the only escape from our torment for those of us who do not wish to succumb to their own hunger. It is an incredibly dangerous ritual intended to fuse a Patronus to a Dementor, finally alleviating the Dementor of it's demonic hunger. It is said that the Dementor's powers will all remain available, strengthened and broadened by the ritual, so I should continue to remain useful to you if I survive."

"I take it that this is the danger you spoke of?"

"Yes, My Lord. A Dementor requires complete control over her powers and malign nature to survive the ritual, as even the slightest slip will result in the Dementor being torn apart and dispersed to the four corners of the world. Not dead, precisely, but crippled for eternity. I believe that I have come far enough to survive the Rite, and my daughter will continue to lead your Dementors in my absence should I fail."

"Does she not wish to undergo the Rite?" Harry pressed, curious.

"It is the aspiration of all your loyal Dementors, My Lord, however none of them yet feel confident in their ability to survive the Rite. The path to the Rite is long and arduous. Shortcuts are fatal at best."

"Sable?" Harry thought into the silence, "Thoughts?"

"On what, My Lord?" she replied in like fashion, "I was unable to hear anything the Dementor shared with you. If you are referring to the 'Rite of Ascension' you asked me to look up, it is mentioned in the Archives as a Ritual that transforms a Dementor into an ascended form, though at great risk to the Dementor in question."

"Which lines up with what this Dementor told me. How soon can we get the Rite ready?"

"It must be performed at Midnight, so tonight." Sable replied, "Traditionally the Lord Azkaban is present to cast a Patronus, I suspect because he would not need it's protection."

"That does sound plausible," Harry sighed, "We seem to be going through a lot of Rituals lately. Make the arrangements."

"We will attempt the Rite tonight, if that is agreeable to you?" Harry spoke aloud, turning his attention back to the Dementor chief before him.

"I shall be as ready then as I ever can be," she replied, "Thank you, My Lord, for giving me this opportunity."

. . .

Before their afternoon lessons, this day they visited the Binder's Guild. Being a highly literary community, the Wizarding World had a huge appetite for quills, inks, parchment and especially books, long before the muggle world caught up. Azkaban was no different, and the Binder's Guild existed solely to sate that appetite. It also produced several books that sold well in mainland Britain, though most sales were to locals or Aurors. Hermione was delighted to find that they possessed enchanted presses for printing most of their books, and promptly engaged their chief printer in a discussion on the technicalities of Magical Printing. Harry, seeing her distracted, turned instead to the Guildmaster who was guiding them.

"Are you familiar with my assistant's book?" he inquired.

"Certainly, My Lord," he replied, "It is considered one of our Guild's very greatest works, and is a Case Study that all our journeymen are required to familiarise themselves with."

"It is safe to assume, then, that you have the specifications for it then?"

"It is indeed," he answered with a little trepidation, "Why, do you wish them destroyed?"

"Certainly not," Harry replied, "Would it be possible to create a modified copy?"

"A copy? Certainly," the Guildmaster sighed, "Modified? In what sense?"

"This book is linked to the Castle Archives," Harry explained, "Would it be possible to link one to the Library instead?"

"Easily. We could link one to any collection of texts, provided they are co-located and we have access to the location in question during the creation. Unfortunately, that does mean you would have to choose between Azkaban's public library and My Lord's private Library."

"Public Library," Harry decided after a moment's thought, "Just let me know when it's done."

"Of course, My Lord, I shall attend to it personally. If we may continue with the tour, however?"

Harry nodded and roused Hermione from her conversation with a silent order. He was determined to familiarise himself with every corner of his new domain, and they had lingered long enough.

. . .

For the third time in two days, Harry returned to the Temple of Azkaban. This time he approached as the moon rode high in the sky and the summer air was as cold as night. The Ritual Master awaited them outside with his apprentices, the Dementor Chief already lurked by the fountain within.

"We are ready, My Lord." the Ritual Master informed them, "Once the full Moonlight illuminates the core of the Temple we shall invoke the Rite. You simply need to cast your Patronus upon the Dementor as the light reaches it's peak. We will handle the rest."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and followed the man through the curtains to begin the Rite . The Dementor knelt by the pool, silent and devoid of fog, and barely acknowledged their presence. With a murmured wish for good luck, Harry stood beside the kneeling Dementor to await the moon light. The Ritual Master and his apprentices took up positions around the perimeter, as did Sable and Hermione. Their eyes turned up, waiting for the light that would signal their start.

They did not have long to wait. As the first glimmer of moonlight appeared at the tip of the hollow shaft, the Ritual Master spoke a line of Ancient Brythonic, his wand clutched tightly at his side. On the second repetition his first apprentice joined him, speaking the same line in an Ancient dialect of Goidelic; with the final apprentice speaking in Traditional Anglo-Saxon upon the third refrain. As the moonlight began to run down the inside of the spire like white treacle Sable and then Hermione joined in, repeating the line in Greek and then Latin.

The moonlight crashed down upon the clear fountain like a waterfall, drenching Harry and the Dementor both. Looking upon the now white-clad Dementor, Harry was surprised to see it trembling as it lowered it's hood and turned to him. Not wanting to stretch it out any further Harry snapped his want out, uttering the words that would seal the fate of the Dementors' Chieftain.

"Expecto Patronum!"

The stag burst from the end of his wand, silver enough to drown out the moonlight as it bounded strait for the Dementor, who swallowed it whole without a beat of hesitation. Bright silver faded to pallid flesh, leaving the room seemingly bleak in the wan moonlight. The moment faded, however, as the gushing moonlight from above focused on the beleaguered Dementor and bright silver cracks began to spread over it's body. The other five maintained their chants as Harry watched the Dementor, shuddering violently, fall to the floor. Unfamiliar with the languages that melded into reverberating white noise, he none-the-less remembered the English words he had been advised were equivalent:

"Fall as Two, Beneath the Moon," he whispered as the Dementor rolled into the pool, "And Rise as One, to Greet the Sun."


	12. Not Every Glitter is Gold

Not Every Glitter is Gold

The following day went quite smoothly, indeed, almost to plan. Harry found it quite relaxing to have a day with nothing to deal with but things that had already been scheduled the day before. After meeting with the council he had his new diamond contact lenses fitted. As promised, Guild Master Isabella fused them to his eyes with permanent sticking charms that melded seamlessly with his own magical core, and taught him how to raise and lower the various visual enhancements she had woven into the tiny diamond lenses.

Harry thanked her profusely before summoning his coach, taking Hermione and Sable with him to visit the Murtlap farm. Calling it a farm was a bit of an exaggeration, as the Murtlap herd was essentially allowed to roam wild amongst the waves of a narrow cove, their herder shrieking at them in mermish from the shoreline. They still had to come ashore to sleep, if nothing else, so it was at night that he harvested them.

Harry was more than happy to listen to the man's troubles as he showed them round the little collection of sheds that dotted the shoreline and demonstrated his trade. The Island's supply of pickled Murtlap was produced here, processed by the man's small family – there was not quite enough to be worth trading abroad, he claimed, though quite enough to sate the island's needs.

"Why not expand the herd?" Hermione had asked him.

"Not enough room in the cove," he explained, "And we can not let them out unwatched – they might not survive to return."

Hermione nodded in reply, accepting this fact whilst Harry grew pensive, filing the problem away for later review. Unfortunately, Sable had to call the tour to a halt.

"My Lord, we need to return to the castle," she reminded them, "Noon is approaching, the next step of your ritual."

"Abandoning a ritual half done will have unpleasant consequences," Hermione interjected, "Master, we really don't want to find out what will happen if you miss a step."

"My apologies, Good sir," Harry sighed, "But we must cut your tour short. Thank you for your time."

"My time is yours, My Lord," he bowed in reply, a broad smile fixed upon his face, "All hail my Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

Summoning his coach with a snap, Harry thanked the man again before departing to greet the ravens.

. . .

Harry enjoyed chatting to the Ravens, letting them know how Sable and Hermione had reacted to their news, and giving them a few questions to try answering next time. He also invited the flock to spend more time with him, to have a representative nearby more often than not. Though he could not understand the comments his offer generated, it was clear that he had provoked some interest. It was not until they sat down to lunch, however, that Sable dropped her bombshell.

"My Lord," she began, "Yesterday you had your researcher report on what she found investigating the family title you inherited. Today I wish to make my own report, on your financial situation."

"Of course, Sable," Harry agreed as they settled around the table.

"By and large, it is well. The Azkaban Vault is open once more, the various stop-gap measures implemented by the stewards have been consigned to history." she began, "The Island's finances are better than any time in living memory. Your own finances may benefit from a degree of consolidation, unless you plan to keep the lines separate."

"Undecided, for now," Harry replied, "We can revisit that idea later."

"Of course, My Lord." she nodded agreement, "However, my examination of the House Potter finances threw up several anomalies. For one, House Potter owns several buildings, all of which are rented out to others. The records seem to indicate that the rent is being paid – yet I can find no sign of it entering the Potter Vaults. Your trust Vault has been filled to a value of 2,200 Galleons on your birthday, every year since 1981, yet it has been completely drained of all funds the day before, without fail, since 1982. I was under the impression that you remained unaware of the vault until 1991?"

"That is correct, Sable." Harry replied tightly, "If I'd been aware that I had money, I would happily have claimed it and left the Dursley's for good."

"The Dursely who were being paid 200 Galleons a month for your upkeep?"

"WHAT!" Harry and Hermione shouted in perfect unison.

"Another anomaly," Sable explained, "The Dursley family received Number 4, Private Drive, rent-free for taking you in, and 200 Galleons from the Potter Vaults for your upkeep. It is all documented, though I can not find who authorised the transaction."

"No Potter," Harry growled, "I'd be lucky if the Dursley's spent so much as One Galleon on my upkeep in Fifteen years. They were always complaining about how expensive I was to 'care' for as well."

"I see," Sable's normally serious demeanour had taken on a darker edge, "I had requested a meeting with the Potter Account Manager to explain this, but the Goblin is refusing to meet save with the Head of House Potter. He has demanded a meeting with you this afternoon, at two o'clock."

"Then we should, of course, honour his request," Harry replied with a grim smile, "Of course, we should also strive to make a serious impression..."

. . .

Later that day, the thunder of hooves drew attention to Gringotts bank. They were drowned out by a thunderclap as the Lord's Coach of Azkaban burst out of the ether at 13:45, precisely. Two guards leapt down from their positions behind the coach to flank the door, Singlesticks resting lightly on their shoulders, whilst a third stood on the other side to ensure the coach remained undisturbed.

The second the guards reached their positions, the door to the coach snapped open. Three shadow-cloaked figures alighted from the coach, led by the young Lord clad in Argent sur Noir. As he stepped down two more guards apparated in, precisely aligned with the first two and five feet closer to the bank. The three swept smoothly up the steps, as more guards crisply apparated into position, lining their advance on the door. The last two held the door for him as he entered the bank without breaking stride, four guards falling in behind him as the remainder marched to a position ringing the coach, their boots breaking the otherwise perfect silence.

"Not bad for a last minute addition," Harry thought at Sable as the three of them strode through the silently gaping crowds.

"The guards of Azkaban are well trained, My Lord," she replied, "Making a 'serious impression', as you put it, is part of the job description."

"Your own poise and cloak helped, master." Hermione added, "You certainly make a somewhat deadly impression."

. . .

After showing the letter demanding their attendance to a nervous goblin, the small group was shown to a comfortable waiting room until Account Manager Sliprot summoned them five minutes later. Two of the guards took up positions just outside the manager's office as the others swept in, guards first. Lord Azkaban and his assistants seated themselves before the desk of the suddenly uncomfortable goblin as their guards stood against the wall, alert and wary.

"What is the meaning of this!" Sliprot tried to bluster, "I am awaiting a very important client and..."

"More important than Lord Potter?" a female voice inquired from under a hood, as another proffered his hand, the Potter Signet showing clearly.

"How did you..."

"By right of Blood and Magic." replied a second female voice, as the signet bearer lowered his hood.

Emerald eyes stared at the goblin from under a lightning scarred forehead. Harry's thick black hair had been somewhat tamed by Sable and a number of potions. Despite the grim finality in his eyes, there was no doubting who he was as Hermione tossed the letter onto the desk. As the goblin's eyes flicked to the missive, he heard the Boy-Who-Lived complete the picture.

"I am here as you demanded, Account Manager Sliprot." Harry intoned, "I will require the full details of any and all discrepancies in the Potter Account, but for now I will settle for a concise summary."

"Get out!" Sliprot Demanded.

"Your letter stated that you would deal with none but the Account Holder..." Sable pressed.

"In person," Hermione added, "You also demanded his immediate presence."

"I am he," Harry informed the Goblin, "And I am here. Please don't waste my time any further."

"YOU ARE NOT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!" Sliprot bellowed, "GET OUT OF MY OFFICE NOW!"

Harry's answering glare was hard and cold, but they were interrupted by a polite knock at the door. One of Harry's guards answered the door, and informed him that there was a squad of Goblin warriors waiting to escort him out of the bank.

"Begone, Potter," spat Sliprot, "You'll find no succour here!"

"Indeed," Harry murmured, "One has to assume the rot runs throughout Gringotts entire."

Rising, he walked through the open door to meet the warriors who seemed torn between apprehension and disgust. Harry surprised them with a slight bow to the warrior leading them, his tone becoming respectful as soon as the door swung shut.

"Excuse me, sir, but could I prevail upon you to convey a request to the Gringotts chief?" Harry held the goblin's gaze as he explained, "I would meet with him before I am forced to publicly withdraw my fortunes from this establishment."

"When?" the goblin growled.

"Today," Harry answered immediately, "I will not delay past sunset."

"Very well," the goblins were clearly far from happy, "You will have to wait under guard until he is ready."

"And I am more than happy to do so," Harry answered smoothly, "Though perhaps somewhere our presence would be slightly less disruptive?"

The warrior grunted, then led them to a spartan room. The walls were panelled in a thin crust of pale wood and lined with hard benches, the floor bare but for large flagstones. The Azkaban guards took up positions in the four corners, staring impassively into the room, leaving the goblins to stand around the doorway, glaring distrustfully at the humans. Unconcerned, Harry settled on a bench, with Hermione and Sable either side. Their faces shrouded in shadow, they passed the time conversing telepathically among themselves.

. . .

It was almost 2 hours later that they were finally shown into the presence of High King Ragnok. He was seated on a granite throne in an echoing cavern of finely polished stones. Glancing around, Harry saw stalactites wrought of semiprecious stone, each carved with scenes that seemed to change as he passed. He was highly impressed by the skill and dedication shown, though he was more concerned with hundred or so Goblin warriors lined up on wither side of the cavern. Thirty to one odds would likely not prove favourable if this meeting turned ugly.

"What do you want, Human!" Ragnok demanded as soon as the stopped fifteen feet from his throne.

"To ascertain whether the claims of corruption rampant in Gringotts is true." Harry replied, rising from his half-bow and dropping his hood.

"Explain yourself." the Goblin hissed.

"From the beginning," Harry "Last week I came to this branch to visit my vault, and received my first ever official correspondence from Gringotts. The letter was hand-delivered to me in the bank's lobby. In response to Senior Solicitor Snaphook's letter, I came a couple of days later to undergo the rite of inheritance. I inherited thirteen titles, with concomitant accounts, chief among them was Potter. My assistant has spent much of the past week going over the parchmentwork that has accrued on the accounts and drew my attention to a number of discrepancies in the Potter Account I inherited from my parents."

"Such as?" the goblin growled, curious despite himself.

"Rent being paid to House Potter and not received by House Potter," Sable replied, "My Lord's personal trust vault being emptied without his knowledge or consent, payments being made for services not rendered, anomalies of that nature."

"You should raise such trifling details with the Account Manager, not me!" Ragnok grumbled, despite the rumblings of the crowd.

"We did," Hermione replied, "The reply was a letter stating that he would only deal with the Account Holder, in person, and demanding a meeting today at 2 PM."

"A meeting which began with Account Manager Sliprot throwing me out of his office for 'Not being Albus Dumbledore'," Harry added in a penetrating whisper, "And concluded with him claiming that the bank would not help me, being as it was complicit in this crime."

"He what?" Ragnok thundered into the deafening silence.

"He blocked my account, sold it to Dumbledore, and claimed Gringotts' approval." Harry pressed, "Given the seriousness of the crime, I can only really take it to you. If you will publicly support him I will have no hope of reversing this crime, and so must abandon Gringotts. Publicly."

"Slashsack," the goblin king snarled, deep and menacing, "Get Sliprot here, NOW!"

The leader of the warrior squad that had escorted Harry there left at a run, leaving behind a decidedly grim atmosphere and seven perplexed wizards.

"Lord Potter," High King Ragnok spoke with tight anger, "You may not be aware of this, but this cavern has long been used for … difficult parley. As such, it contains enchantments for safety and honesty. I therefore know your words to be true, and though we will still need to determine the full extent of this travesty, I assure you that I knew nothing of this. What is more, I Will get to the bottom of the matter."

"That is all I ask, your Majesty," Harry replied softly, "I have other sources of gold, after all – it is not my finances that are at risk – but I refuse to have my name besmirched by such blatant dishonesty,"

"You seem easily convinced, despite your earlier bluster."

"Magic," Harry replied with a smile, "I can see that you are not trying to mislead me. More than that, though, remains to be seen."

It was at that point that Account Manager Sliprot was thrown into the chamber. He fell to the smooth stone floor beside Harry's party, visibly paling when he took in the assemblage. The other goblins glared at him in disgust, and the anger of his king was palpable. Kneeling beside Harry he spoke in a nervous stutter:

"How might I serve you my liege?"

"It has been brought to our attention that your conduct as Account Manager has been unprofessional and, more than that, illegal!" Ragnok replied, "An accounting has been demanded of us, and quite rightly so. What have you to say for yourself?"

"Great majesty, this human must have lied!"

"Did you refuse me access to the Potter Account on the grounds that I am not Albus Dumbledore?" Harry asked.

"No!" the Goblin screamed, but his face immediately turned fluorescent green.

"Lord Potter has passed the test of truth," Ragnok informed them, "You failed."

Snarling in desperation, Sliprot leapt upon Harry, drawing a dagger from his sleeve. Harry pivoted on one foot, raising his cane to meet the strike, whilst two of his guards turned to intercept the attacker. Fortunately, the wards on the chamber worked as intended – Sliprot dropped his dagger howling in pain, though Harry's group remained strangely untouched. As Sliprot collapsed, weaponless to the floor, he looked up into the hard green eyes of his victim. Two thick wooden shafts blocked his approach, the air humming with some kind of shield, but Harry himself held a foot long blade in an easy grip, almost daring him to strike.

"Well played, Lord Potter," High King Ragnok laughed as his guards seized Sliprot, "Well played indeed."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Harry inclined his head again, "But how?"

"The wards against weapons were specifically designed to allow the ruler of this chamber to place his guard here," he explained, "As such, they prevent weapons being drawn, but do not affect weapons that are already being carried in hand, such as yours. It is amusing to see that you come with guards whilst bearing weapons of your own."

"No slight to the warriors of Azkaban, I assure you." Harry answered as he returned the blade to his cane, "I am merely unaccustomed to the presence of competent protectors."

"A tale and a half I am sure!" the goblin laughed, "Much as I would like to hear it I must tend to more pressing matters. I will take over as manager for the Potter account and oversee a full audit immediately. Please bear in mind that your account will have to be frozen until the audit is complete."

"As I said, I have alternative sources of funding," Harry agreed, "Though if this is anything like I think it is, you may want to investigate other accounts tied to either Albus Dumbledore or Sliprot."

"Sliprot will be thoroughly interrogated, my Lord." Ragnok assured him, "Our experts are most efficient. After that, I am ordering routine investigations into All accounts, regardless of who manages them. If there are any more Sliprots in Gringotts, We Will Find Them."

"Thank you, King Ragnok," indicating his assistant, "Sable has our preliminary findings, which should help some. You can contact us via Azkaban when you are done. Mail sent to me elsewhere has a nasty habit of 'disappearing'. May our dealings be as fruitful as they are honest, Majesty."

"May they indeed," Ragnok replied, nodding for Slashsack to show them out.


	13. Just Desserts

Just Desserts

The following day Harry visited the Wand Maker of Azkaban again. He had relayed a message via Sable to say that he had completed Harry's order, and Harry was quite eager to see his new wand. Hermione and Sable travelled with him to the little cottage with it's private climate, but neither were expecting the face that answered the door.

"Mary Frankenstein?" Harry guessed.

"Yes, my Lord." she smiled in reply, "Shelly tells me that I have you to thank for directing him to me."

"There's a tale there, I am sure." Harry answered, "May we come in?"

"Of course, my Lord." she stammered, "Please excuse me."

Mary led the trio into the cottage's small sitting room and served them tea, blushing lightly as Shelly bustled into the room with three small boxes. He placed them on the table with great reverence, before bowing and kneeling before his lord.

"All hail my Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he Rule!"

"Please rise, Wand crafter Almsman," Harry sighed, "I will not demand such reverence from you."

"If it pleases you, my Lord, I owe you far more than I can say." Shelly replied from his position, "I had thought that the years, and cruel fate, had torn my love from me until you restored her. I owe you my happiness and my craft. The skill with which Mary crafts her muffled wands is truly a delight to behold, but that she holds no ill-will against me warms my heart beyond all else."

"I am glad that it worked out well for you," Harry replied, a little uncomfortable, "But that is not why you asked me here?"

"No, My Lord." Shelly affirmed, "I have completed your wands, and those for your assistants. For your main wand, Cedar wood with an Ebony grip and a tail hair from your Lordship's chief Nightmare, tipped with a shard of Chimera scale."

"I take it those are unusual?" Harry asked, hearing Hermione's gasp.

"The wood, not so much." Shelly replied, "The Nightmare is not found outside of Azkaban any more, so the use of their tail hairs in wands is only common here. The interesting aspect is the Chimera scale. They are so rare that accumulating enough to make a full wand core is impossible – they are only ever seen as secondary core elements. Finding someone who can manage a dual-core wand, especially one as volatile as this, is rare indeed. For the hilt, I matched a small black opal, which would accumulate magical energies, further boosting the strength of your spells. The difference may be small – typically seven to thirteen percent – but it is a useful edge for the skilled caster. Many find the extra power difficult to manage at first, but your blood sample chose this combination, so the result must match. This is a fiercely protective wand, difficult to tame yet unflinching in it's loyalty. It is the wand of a leader, and a sleeping giant."

"Sleeping Giant?" Harry asked, "How so?"

"Slow to anger, yet terrible in his wroth." Shelly replied, handing the wand case over and indicating the second wand, "Your muffled wand is composed of seven woods, five cores, and one gem. Oak, holly, cedar, ebony, apple, beech, and fir woods, all spiralled round a core of Kelpie hair, Thestral hair, white river monster spine, black phoenix feather and a basilisk heartstring. The core counter spirals against the wood, and it is all brought together by the gemstone tip. Crystallised blood, my Lord – yours to be precise. It gathers the magic channelled through the woods and cores into a single, coherent pulse. Pulse-casting is an antiquated art, as it introduces a split-second delay as the magical energies accumulate in the crystal lense. However, although the compressed pulse is not technically any more powerful, it is much more able to overcome any interference, whether that be shield charms or magic-dampening auras."

Harry nodded gratefully as he accepted the box, easily identifying the two wands. One possessed striations, seven different colours spiralling up it's length, and ended in dark crimson disk. The other was more elegant, possessing a distinct grip that ended in a shimmering black stone. Levitating the box with his new wand, before switching seamlessly to the muffled wand, Harry nodded to himself, pleased.

"I thank you for your effort, Master Almsman. You have completed my assistant's wands as well?"

"Yes, my Lord. For the muffled wands I used the same pattern as for yours. I know it works, and with the conflict of magical energies the caster's self-control is a far more important asset than precise compatibility. As for the main wands, your assistant has an ebony wand whilst your researcher has cedar, both with jetstone handles and a kelpie hair and pixie dust core. Full brother wands, I might add, which is extremely rare for dual cored wands."

He presented the cases to their new owners, bowing low as they took them. These wands were elegantly crafted, their surfaces covered with delicate carvings that, though barely visible, dappled the wands with subtle shadows. Shelly looked like he was prepared to burst with pride at the work, eager to please to an extent that disturbed Harry, so after a few pleasantries they left to return to the castle.

. . .

"My Lord," Sable informed him as they made their way up to the castle, "There is a representative from the Ministry waiting to meet you."

"Any idea who this representative may be, Sable?"

"Only that he turned up whilst we were meeting with the wand maker," Sable checked her book, "And demanded to see you."

"Demanded?"

"That is what I have here," Sable indicated her book, "There is nothing else on your schedule this morning, until your ritual meeting with the ravens."

"Then let us see what this representative wants," Harry replied, "Since the ministry has finally noticed that I am here,"

"Your little show outside Gringotts yesterday probably tipped them off," Hermione suggested, "The ministry is not, as a whole, noted for their clear sight."

"Yes, I remember how clearly they recognised the signs of Voldemort's return before we rubbed their noses in it," Harry sighed bitterly, "At least they noted that Azkaban had a Lord before I invaded the ministry building this time."

. . .

As Harry swept into his audience chamber and took his throne, he noted that the ministry's representative appeared to be Lucius Malfoy, who should have been captured as a Death Eater in the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries debacle. That he was here, ostensibly representing the ministry and sneering at everything in sight, spoke volumes for the ministry's competence – or lack thereof.

"Anything to add, Sable?" he silently inquired as she stiffened at the sight before her.

"He was our last steward," Sable replied in kind.

"OK, I think this constitutes a massive blunder on the part of the ministry, but let us hope I am proved wrong."

"How dare you keep me waiting, peasant!" Lucius greeted them, "My time is valuable, and I have better things to be doing than playing your games!"

"So much for that hope," Harry silently thought at his girls, before addressing his guest aloud, "Apparently not, else you would have made an appointment and returned to your 'better things' until we could manage with a minimum of time wasted. My duty as Lord Azkaban keeps me busy, I can not simply drop everything and run because I have an uninvited guest."

"Impudent Boy," Lucius muttered, before drawing himself up and composing his features into a formal mask, "You will return the Dark Lord's Dementor's to him at once. He has promised to spare you and this pathetic rock in exchange for your fealty."

"No,"

"Excuse me?"

"I will offer Voldemort nothing but my enmity. He is a declared enemy of Azkaban and, as such, neither he nor his servants will find succour on her shores." Lucius stared at him, dumbfounded, as Harry turned to address Sable, "Correct me if I am wrong about this, but I was under the impression that I was to be meeting with the ministry's representative?"

"That is correct, my Lord Azkaban."

"Then why do I find Voldemort's pet propagandist? Has the ministry capitulated already?"

"Not to the best of our knowledge, my Lord Azkaban,"

"Must have been a mistake in the paperwork, then," Harry let out a theatrical sigh, "Please see to it, Sable. Since you are here, Lucius, we might as well clear up some lingering matters."

"What could you possibly have to say of concern to me?"

"You are aware that you are considered a fugitive on Azkaban, are you not?" Harry pressed, "Even leaving aside your apparent devotion to her enemies, you have yet to stand trial for your behaviour on the occaision of your last visit."

Lucius spluttered indignantly at the accusation, claiming innocence attempting to hide behind his authority as Steward, but Harry pressed on regardless.

"If you are innocent then you have nothing to fear from an honest trial," Lord Azkaban informed them, "And it would truly help to have this matter resolved for good."

"Very well," Lucius snarled, "Let's get this farce over with!"

"Excellent!" Lord Azkaban smiled to himself, "Bring in the witnesses, and let us hear this case."

. . .

It proved to be an extremely short hearing. Lucius screamed invectives at all concerned, alternately denying all wrongdoing and boasting of his foul deeds. By the time he had finished admitting to everything (including several crimes nobody else had previously noticed), Lord Azkaban was glad to conclude the session.

"Lucius Malfoy," he intoned, "Azkaban finds that you are guilty on all charges, and sentences you to life in the deepest pit our prison can provide."

Silence fell over the chamber as Lucius absorbed that fact. His face grew even paler than usual before turning purple with rage. Just before he burst, however, Lord Azkaban spoke again:

"I am willing, however, to commute your sentence to community service," he gestured for Sable to present the contract they had prepared, "As a bed-slave."

"What?" Lucius seemed to loose composure in the face of the amused snickering that erupted at that comment.

"If you wish to accept my offer, sign the contract," Lord Azkaban replied, his tone bland, "Alternatively, two of my Dementors have arrived to escort you to your cell."

"Stand Down!" Lucius demanded, whirling to face the door, "I am the duly appointed steward of Azkaban, and you are beholden to Me!"

"I shall take that as a no," Lord Azkaban gestured for the Dementors to take the prisoner.

"No, Wait!" Lucius shrank back from the approaching guards, "I'll sign!"

The Dementors drifted back to the door as Lucius scribbled his name on the bottom of the contract. Turning to glare at the young Lord on the shadowed throne, He drew himself up and sneered imperiously.

"I suppose you'll be taking me to your bed now, little child."

"Oh, you mistake me," there was a warm amusement in that voice, though line with chill, that disturbed even the fallen Malfoy, "I never said that I would claim you as my slave."

An emaciated figure drifted into the room, shrouded in a pale white cloak. Soft silver hair flowed from her scalp in a beautiful wave, and her face, though marred with distress, had relaxed into a smile of utmost peace. She approached the throne a knelt before her Lord, her voice echoing clearly in the chamber.

"All hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

"Rise, Morrigan," Harry commanded with a smile, "How are you fairing of late?"

"Well, my Lord." she replied, "There have been no complications from the ritual. I feel that I have been reborn anew, though the sensations are confusing at times."

"I am sure you will grow accustomed." Harry reassured her, handing over the contract, "But I felt that your new status deserved a gift of sorts. Lucius, meet her Royal Highness Morrigan, Queen of my Dementors. Your new Master."

"Lucius Malfoy?" Morrigan hissed as she turned to face the man who was shrieking denials at them all, "The treacherous Steward who persuaded so many of my subjects to ally themselves with our enemies?"

"The very same," the Lord of Azkaban nodded invisibly, "So it seems fitting that I place his fate in your lovely new hands. Make sure to treat him… properly."

"It will be my pleasure, my Lord Caer Azkaban." Morrigan bowed deeply to her Lord before dragging the protesting Lucius out of the room.

"Harry," Hermione whispered in the back of his mind, "How long have you been thinking of that?"

"Just today, actually." Harry replied, "I've been considering options since I first heard of the matter, but it all just fell into place at the right time."

"My Lord," Sable spoke aloud in the silent room, "What should we tell the Ministry?"

"Has there been any contact with the Ministry other than Malfoy's arrival?"

"No my Lord," Sable checked her book to confirm, "As you said, had the Ministry notified us in advance we could have been properly prepared to receive him."

"Then tell them nothing," Harry decided, "As far as we are concerned, this was Voldemort's envoy attempting to contact us under false pretences. Please do inform his widow that he will not be returning, however."

"As you wish, my Lord."

. . .

The rest of the day passed in relative peace. Harry made it on time to his meeting with the Unkindness of Azkaban, played desperate catch up in his afternoon lessons, and did not get a chance to relax until dinner. By this time both Sable and Hermione had grown accustomed to the fact that he expected them to share his meals, so took their seats without complaints. Sable reported on the preliminary results of the Goblin's audit – they had confirmed that there were some wrongdoings associated with his account, but suggested that their depth exceeded any they were accustomed to. The Goblin's King had also passed on his personal apology that the mess would take far longer to sort out, and a promise to consult with him on any actions taken.

"I wonder if we can get an Azkaban branch, or create our own?" Harry mused, "I suppose we should look into that later."

"As you wish, My Lord." Sable delicately replied as Kreacher popped in beside the table.

"What is the matter, Kreacher?" Harry inquired, "Has there been trouble at the house?"

"No trouble, Good Young Master, Kreacher brings letter to the Lord Black." He placed it on the table, "No curses or poisons get past me, Good Young Master, it is safe to open."

Nodding his assent, Harry did so and quickly scanned the contents.

"Trouble, Master?"

"Perhaps," Harry nodded at his slave, "Narcissa wishes to be freed of the Malfoy name and come under the protection of Lord Black. We can not bring her here, though..."

"What about Grimmaud Place, Master?" Hermione inquired, "It would be familiar to her, as a Black family seat."

"Kreacher would be happy to look after mistress Black again," Kreacher confirmed.

"Alright, but I still do not entirely trust her." Harry Sighed, "Kreacher, you are not to share any of my secrets with her, and that includes the Black Family Secrets. Furthermore, before I provide you with an invitation to take to Narcissa, you will remove any Black Family artefacts from the house. Store them in the Gringott's Vault."

"Of course, Good Wise Master, Kreacher will do so at once." So saying, he popped out.

"So now you offer to shelter your enemies, My Lord?"

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." Harry quietly quoted to himself before addressing Sable's concern, "I am not altogether sure that she is an enemy, not yet. This way I can deny her to my actual enemies and monitor her behaviour. She will be in a controlled environment, safe from our mutual enemies but unable to act against me. If she tries anything, we will know and judge her accordingly."

"You are certainly proving to be a good Lord Azkaban, Harry." Sable nodded in approval.

. . .


	14. A Calm Weekend

A Calm Weekend

The following morning a message arrived from the Ministry. The council was mildly amused to hear the Minister's distress at his envoy's disappearance, but the politics still had to be played.

"Sable," Harry spoke after the message had been read aloud, "Please draft a reply for our signature stating that we have received no such envoy from the Ministry and, as our forces are disallowed from operating outside the Island, we are regrettably unable to offer any assistance in the search."

"As you wish, My Lord."

"Add that we have recently rejected an envoy from Voldemort – please be sure to use that name – and would much prefer to welcome a representative from the Ministry." he added, "Please ask that the Minister contact us in advance to arrange a time for our meeting, so that our guards can meet him on the boat and protect him from any untoward encounters."

"Of course, my Lord."

With that small matter dealt with, Harry turned back to the council to deal with the matters of Azkaban.

. . .

The remainder of the day was unusually calm, peaceful even. Harry visited the shepherd on the moor, who he found to be doing quite well for himself, listened to the Unkindness of Azkaban, and studied hard through the afternoon. After the sequence of bizarre events that had intruded on his life over recent days Harry found the relative mundanity to be soothing. Sunday, however, was to prove far more eventful.

"My Lord." Sable greeted Harry as she woke him, "Minister Fudge has scheduled an appointment for this morning. Shall I place him amongst the other petitioners in your public court?"

"Better not," Harry responded, "We still have no idea how this is going to go – arrange a private meeting room after. As soon as he arrives, send him to the Psychiatrist. Have him given a brief session and a dose of the suppressing potion – but don't tell him why. Only that we are concerned about the effect of distant Dementor auras can have on those unaccustomed to their presence."

"It will be done, My Lord."

"Good," Harry smiled, "Then see to it while I get dressed."

A shadow flickered briefly over Sable's face before she bowed and departed. Harry pondered it briefly before shaking the thought from his mind and turning his full attention to the day ahead. Today he would publicly judge the grievances of Azkaban and meet with the British Minister of Magic to determine the future of their alliance. Distractions were one thing he definitely could not afford.

. . .

"Minister Fudge," The Lord of Caer Azkaban strode into the small audience chamber and greeted his guest, "Welcome to my humble abode."

"N-not so h-humble to me, m-my Lord," Fudge promised, already intimidated by the shadow-shrouded Lord, "S-sorry, that potion made me woozy."

"An unfortunate side effect that we have yet to resolve," Lord Azkaban accepted smoothly, knowing that it was far more likely to be caused by the fire whisky his guards had reported the Minister drinking, "Though preferable to the Dementor's chill, however faint."

"I-I was told they l-left?" Fudge cringed.

"Most of them did; but I was able to recall them." His voice turned hard as he added, "They will not be leaving the Island again."

Fudge nodded furiously at that, unable to give voice to his drunken fear. The Lord Azkaban sighed in response.

"We will continue to incarcerate any criminals you send us, Minister," he informed the man, "And we are looking into increasing our complement and defences. There will be no further breakouts, and if Voldemort attacks us here we will give him a nasty surprise or three. Unfortunately, under the terms of our alliance, none of my forces can operate in Britain without declaring war on her; excepting only in matters directly pertaining to my safety, such as a bodyguard. As I have no intention of going to war with you or your ministry, Azkaban is unable to help you against Voldemort. Of course, should you fall to his Death Eater's, Azkaban will avenge you."

"The M-ministry requests that you h-honour our alliance and c-come to our aid" Fudge stammered.

"Azkaban is honouring our alliance," Lord Azkaban replied firmly, "It would be illegal for even one of my soldiers to set foot on British soil, or I would have have them hunting down Death Eaters already. We are at war after all, Minister."

"O-of course, my Lord, I-i'll have a new law today." Fudge seemed eager to agree.

"My forces would require Auror Authority," Azkaban mused, "They already have the training and pay, you don't need to worry about that, Just the legal right to act as Aurors do."

"Wizen-gamot meets this after-noon," Fudge seemed slightly calmer now that the fearsome Lord Caer Azkaban seemed to be agreeing with him, "W-we'll see it d'done."

"Thank you, Minister." Harry smiled, unseen within the shadowed hood, "I'll have my forces standing by, ready to go the moment we get the word."

So eager was Fudge to get away from the intimidating Lord, that he almost forgot the Dicta-Quill recorded transcript of the meeting. So, after stammering a few more empty platitudes, he fled the Island under the amused gaze of her guards.

"Sable," Harry thought to her as he watched the stumbling Minister leave, "I have no idea if he will actually come through, but prepare the teams anyway. They are to hunt down and capture or eliminate Death Eaters and their supporters. Try to cripple Voldemort's support network. We also need to locate and eliminate his Horcruxes without tipping our hand."

"It will be done, my Lord."

"Assign our best investigative team to the Ministry building itself, ostensibly as 'Ministerial liaison and security'," He added, "Have them investigate Ministry employees for corruption and incompetence – starting with our illustrious Minister."

"Of course, My Lord." a slight smile tugged at her lips, "I doubt that will prove a difficult task."

"Tell them to keep it discreet, though." Harry insisted, "We do not want to scare our targets away. I don't want us to win the war ourselves, but the ministry is crippled by corruption and nepotism. Until we clean them out, they would be all but useless."

"As you say, Lord. Will you select the teams yourself?"

"Goodness no," Harry immediately brushed off the suggestion, "I do not know them. Assign the task to someone who does: I need teams chosen for their effectiveness, not randomly."

"At once, my Lord."

. . .

Harry retired to his chambers to read and practice wand work. Since acquiring his new muffled wand he had not had a chance to truly grow comfortable with it. He spent an hour going over a sequence of basic spells, just growing accustomed to the ways in which the peculiar wand distorted his magic into unrecognisable shapes. By the time noon approached, he was more than confident that he could cast his spells with the minimum of leakage, making the muffled wand a valuable asset in his arsenal.

"My Lord," Sable bowed as Harry made an armchair dance ballet, "It is time for the Hrafnsmál."

"Of course, Sable." Harry smiled at her, "Let us give them the good news."

"Good news?"

"It is time for the Unkindness of Azkaban to once again fulfil their ancient duty," Harry explained, "Of course, I can not officially send them to operate on the mainland before we get that official clearance from the Ministry, but I doubt that they will be wanting to operate openly anyway. Azkaban marches for war, Sable, and her ravens will fly with us."

"Of course, My Lord." she bowed deeply once again, "Noon approaches."

. . .

Though it was hard to tell when he could not hear their replies, the Ravens did indeed seem quite eager to take up their ancestral role in the defence of Azkaban. When true noon approached and Harry was called away to lunch the Unkindness scattered to the four winds, save for the Alpha Raven who merely nodded acknowledgement to the 'Lord Human'.

With the ravens taking wing, Harry retired to enjoy a quiet lunch with his servant and his slave. A luncheon that was eventually disturbed by a maid bearing an Owl for the Lord Caer Azkaban.

"May I?" Sable asked, gesturing with her wand, "It seems urgent to have been brought here directly, but stranger curses have happened."

"I would expect the Wards of Azkaban to be sufficient to counter curses," Hermione opined, "It is more mundane poisons you should worry about."

"There is a charm for that," Sable shrugged, flicking a dozen different spells at the parchment before checking the seal, "It's official, direct from the Wizengamot."

"That's really rare," Hermione gasped, "Usually they just let the Minister or a proposing member write a letter on their behalf – whatever is in there must be serious."

Harry opened it with a flick of his wand – just in case – and read over the parchment within. A smile broke out over his face as he handed it over to his companions to read.

"Is this what I think it is?" he wanted to know.

"The situation must be desperate if the Wizengamot responded this quickly," Sable opined, "This letter effectively grants you blanket authority within the United Kingdom – as long as an action is legal for someone to perform, you can authorise someone to perform it. Even if the action is only legal for a small group of people that your chosen agent does not belong to. The treaty requirement that your forces not operate on the mainland is specifically revoked – interesting choice of words – and the only limitation imposed is legal. You can authorise physical or magical acts, such as arrests, assaults and duels, but not legal acts, such as new legislation. You can, however, propose new legislation should that take your fancy."

"What is interesting about their choice of words in revoking that requirement?"

"Revocation is effectively permanent," Hermione answered for Sable as she poured over the short letter, "Had they suspended the clause instead, it would have allowed them to restore the limitation at will. Revoking the clause essentially means deleting it from the Treaty, so they can not restore it without renegotiating a new treaty."

"More importantly, at least for you," Sable added, "Is that they can not retroactively decide you were in breach of treaty a moment after the war ends. We will get plenty of warning to pull our forces back."

"All that remains, then, is to assemble and brief the teams." Harry sighed, "I assume you found someone appropriate to arrange matters?"

"Of Course, My Lord," Sable immediately replied, "Given the Treaty restrictions, the Commander of your Guard has command over all Azkaban's military forces. I have informed her of your desires and she has promised to assemble teams for your consideration."

"Please let her know that the Wizengamot came through" Harry indicated the letter, "And that I am authorising the teams' deployment from Monday. I expect her to have at least the Ministry Team ready to go by morning."

"As you wish, my Lord."

"Tell her that she can cancel the afternoon's lesson if needed," Harry added, "This takes priority."

. . .

As it turned out, his Commander was more than capable of multi-tasking, turning his afternoon lesson into a lecture on the unit groupings she had chosen. She introduced him to the subtle art of unit disposition, and taught him how to arrange a diverse military to best effect. Many of the more esoteric units remained permanently attached to Azkaban – Nightmare calvary might be impressive, but they were of little use in most counter insurgency actions.

"If we can pin them down for a major battle, that's when you can call the calvary in," she had explained, "But if that happens your enemy has made a major mistake, so you might not need to."

"What about broom-mounted forces." Hermione had wanted to know, "Would not they prove more effective?"

"In theory, yes, but they still suffer from many of the problems posed by Nightmares," the Commander replied, "Namely that there are very limited opportunities to deploy them without breeching the Statute of Secrecy. We do not want to incite any further panic amongst the Muggles. There are also regrettably few who can manage to cast effectively whilst in flight."

"Could you not use the broom's shaft as a focus?" Harry asked.

"I hadn't thought of that," she murmured in response, before shaking her head and continuing, "I will have to raise that with the Island's Wandmaker, though it still does not solve the issue of the Statute."

Harry made a mental note to ask about aerial tactics in a later lesson. Even if the fliers never left Azkaban, they would need more than a wish and a prayer to get by. As the lesson continued the Commander returned to the warriors she had chosen, giving him a brief overview of each individual and unit, before explaining exactly why she had assigned each individual to a particular unit, and why she had assigned each unit to their particular task.

. . .

At the end of that lesson Harry signed the official orders authorising their deployment and granting each unit the authority to carry out their appointed task. He still thought that it was a little excessive, the amount of power which the Wizengamot had granted him, though he was infinitely grateful that they had managed to retain Azkaban's autonomy from the Ministry. The Commander seemed equally happy with the turn of events, leaving to give final briefings to those she had chosen as Headmistress Ribbeck arrived to begin their academic lessons.

"Excuse me, Headmistress," Harry interrupted her before she could begin the lesson, "but could we trouble you to look at semi-active amulets today?"

"That is a little more complicated than I would like to cover at your level, My Lord." she frowned, "You are learning well, but are burdened by your previous poor educators."

"I had a thought about where they could prove useful on a wider scale," Harry explained, "And wondered if any of your other students might be interested in making a little extra money."

"Most assuredly," she replied, "But how?"

"Muggle born homes." Harry's reply was simple, but well founded, "Very few would have any magical defences beyond the wands of the inhabitants, which are usually hampered by the Restriction against Underage Sorcery. A Death Eater could seal the building and burn it to the ground without any issue. Active wards are available, of course, but expensive, and very few warders would be willing to Ward a muggle home anyway. They would have to do a substandard job regardless, due to some horribly prejudiced laws, and then charge extra to set up an additional array of wards to prevent Muggles from noticing anything odd. Which have to be especially extensive if they expect to have muggle guests regularly."

"True, but what does that have to do with my other students?"

"Semi-active wards won't do anything overtly magical until they are targeted by active spells, at which point the Statute of Secrecy has been blown out of the water anyway." Harry explained, "I want Azkaban to sell semi-active ward books to muggle born homes, but for that to work we are going to need a steady supply of amulets to fill them – and that is where the students come in. We won't be making a huge profit margin – I personally expect to make a loss covering the expenses – but that does not mean we can not pay your students for their time."

"Well, I can certainly see that working," the Headmistress mused, "But what do you mean by ward books? The only ward books I am familiar with are control tomes keyed to some of the more powerful Active Wards."

"I thought that we should probably scale down the racks you have in your archives," Harry shrugged, "We are targeting a customer base that, by and large, will lack the time for major works to be carried out; even if they happen to have the space and the money."

"Well, that much I can guarantee working," Headmistress Ribbeck forced her attention back onto the Lord before her, "My Lord, I am I right in assuming that you are not sufficiently familiar with the process to calculate the economics of such a plan."

"Right in one." Harry smiled at her, "I don't need to become a semi-active expert, Headmistress, but I do need to know what it is that I am funding – at least in general."

"Then we can begin with a basic overview of semi-active warding." she smiled, handing over a new book, "This topic requires an understanding of potions, runes and arithmancy, as well as a little basic magical theory, so don't hesitate to highlight any points that you are unsure on."

Harry smiled as the lecture continued. It was looking like Azkaban's entry into the war would be far more wide-spread that Fudge could ever have guessed.


End file.
